Unforgiveable
by EStrunk
Summary: Draco is part of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle, but secretly using his post to bring the Dark Lord down. Hermione is his contact in the Order and he is soon going to discover that she means far more to him than that.
1. Chapter 1 - The Hunt

1 – The Hunt

Draco Malfoy flew low enough to be hidden by the labyrinth hedges of the Malfoy Manor gardens. He peered out from behind the hedge and watched the reflection of the hooded figure he was following in the still garden pond. He hovered for a moment to make sure that his presence was undetected. He'd already disillusioned himself so he couldn't be seen. He did have to be careful to avoid brushing up against any of the shrubbery. Any sound or movement could attract attention. So far he had remained unseen. It helped that he knew the gardens of Malfoy Manor better than anyone, anyone except his own parents.

He was doing all of this for them, well, for his mother any way. His father had now slipped into an alcohol-coated insanity and good riddance to him. But after tonight his mother would be safe.

Once he had realized that they could never escape the Dark Lord, Draco had decided that if he had to be a Death Eater, he would be the best of the Death Eaters. As the Dark Lord's grip had tightened, as his demands had increased his mother had been the only one part of his life where there was light, grace, a reason for hope no matter what. So he had committed himself, hardened himself, and he would do whatever it took to keep his family safe.

And now, the snitch was within his grasp, at least figuratively speaking. Draco was close enough to go the rest of the way on foot. He found a patch of soft fern-covered ground and dismounted. He kept his eyes on his quarry while performing a quick spell to shrink his broom to the size of a quill. He slipped it into one of the inner pockets of his robe as he crept closer to his prey.

It was just a little more than two weeks since he'd seen his chance to secure his mother's safety permanently. The Dark Lord had been outraged when he told him of his suspicion that they had a spy in their midst. He had promised Draco that catching the spy would have a significant reward. Draco would become the third member of the inner circle and his mother would be guaranteed safe from harm. The Dark Lord being who he was, he had added that if Draco failed this task his mother would be killed. In fact, Draco would probably be forced to do kill her himself. That thought kept waking him in a cold sweat – terrified that he wouldn't be able to make good on his bragging.

He pushed such thoughts away. For the first time in months she would be safe. They'd been so close to getting away, before, the night of the last battle at Hogwarts. But they hadn't known what the Dark Lord could do. When Potter had miraculously resurrected hope had surged in Draco's heart. He'd thought for a moment that Potter could do it, could kill the Dark Lord, end the madness. But the Dark Lord was nothing if not careful. His plan had been thrown off. Potter was back. When the Dark Lord realized that his spells weren't working properly he'd decided to flee.

That was when they learned that he'd strengthened the Dark Mark's magic. They learned that he could use their Marks to pull them, to take them with him wherever he went. They belonged to him. Any chance for freedom was gone.

If he couldn't be free, he would have to be powerful. His father's fragile grip on reality had vanished after that night. So Draco had to be the one to take care of his mother. The Dark Lord had loved the fear he could cause with every glance in her direction.

That was why he needed to catch the spy. Now he smiled as he closed in on his prey. He was close enough to see that whoever it was moved like a female. His mother was the only female who lived at the Manor now, ever since the Dark Lord had moved on. However, his father's insanity meant that the wards couldn't be changed. Only the master of the manor could do that. As a result any of the women who'd had access during the Dark Lord's residence still had access – Aunt Bella, the Death Eaters' wives, Pansy. There weren't very many. Maybe someone was polyjuiced as a female. That left their identity still wide open.

Whoever it was slipped inside the gate of the family graveyard and moved smoothly in between the headstones, careful to avoid stepping on the hallowed ground in front of each marker. He or she was clearly familiar with this area, this path. Was this where meetings with the contact from the Order of the Phoenix always took place? Who dared to enter this hallowed family place?

A motion on the other side of the graveyard fence drew his eye. There was someone there. The contact. It seemed a shame to let them finish their meeting unmolested, but he couldn't afford to be distracted right now. The Dark Lord would decide whether to continue to use the spy, maybe under the Imperius, or maybe just as bait to capture an Order member. Draco's business tonight was only with the betraying Death Eater.

Whoever it was must have known that the Manor's wards would alert both Draco and the Dark Lord if any one entered or left the grounds. But a meeting just at the border would not be detected.

It looked like the message had been delivered. The contact was gone, and the hooded figure turned to go back to the house, even pausing for a moment at one of the tombstones to kneel down and leave some flowers. Draco scoffed at the lame attempt at a cover story. Not good enough.

The family plot was no place for a confrontation. In fact, Draco had already scoped an ambush site behind the hedges. He slipped around a corner. In a few moments he heard the soft padding footsteps, still sounding decidedly female. Draco drew his wand, but waited for the figure to come around the hedge.

"Don't move," he snarled, then with a flick of his wrist a spell threw back the hood of the cloak. His mother's clear blue eyes met his, but he was not fooled.

"What story did I demand every night when I was three?"

"Digbert the Dragon Saves the Day," the imposter answered.

"Impressively thorough." Whoever this was they were ready to be questioned. Even her voice was right.

"How do I like my porridge?"

"With lavender honey, blueberries and almonds, lightly toasted."

Right again.

He dug into his memories for something only his mother would know.

"What did I say to you when we saw that Potter was still alive?" He'd whispered into her ear. No one else had heard. And since it hadn't worked, since the Dark Lord had yanked them away, she wouldn't have told anyone. Not even his father.

Her blue eyes looked calmly at him and answered "You said 'Within the hour we'll be gazing at the Ponte Vecchio.'"

Had this jerk searched his mother's mind? Copied it? His wand thrust out. He'd have to kill whoever this was for knowing that, for knowing they'd planned to escape. But first he had to know who it was. Who could impersonate his mother so well?

Then a new idea came to him. "Left hand," he commanded. There on the middle finger was the Malfoy crest, or at least a replica. But only a Malfoy could wear the real thing and their rings knew each other. He held out his hand, but jerked it back when he saw that the rings were both glowing with a soft green light. Impossible.

"Mother?"

"Draco."

"Are you imperiused?" he asked, even as he was searching her eyes. She put up no resistance to his legilimency. Her mind was clear and unimpeded, with her usual calm resolve. She easily let him see that she'd just met with Arthur Weasley, and heard her cryptic words to him. He could feel her strange pride that it had been Draco who'd managed to detect her, to find out her secrets. And overall, she was filled with a deep determination to bring down the Dark Lord.

He closed his eyes and pulled out of her mind. He could manage no more than a whisper. "What have you done?"

He didn't expect an answer, but she gave one - "What needed to be done."

His mind swirled as many thoughts rushed through it. His blood abandoned his face. His legs wavered and before they could give out he dropped to one knee, head bent, clutched in one desperate hand.

This was his mother. It was really her.

He looked up at her, suddenly seeing their future. The Dark Lord was waiting for him – to capture the spy, to bring the spy to him.

"Oh my God. What have I done?"

**AN – Thanks for reading my new story. Just so you know – I will finish this story. The whole thing is already plotted. The first 10 chapters are written. I update once a week, every Friday. Don't bother pestering me. It won't be more.**


	2. Chapter 2 - Stuck

**Disclaimer – I forgot to mention, for any of you who aren't paying attention, I'm not J.K. Rowling, I don't own her characters, her magic, her world. I just love to linger with them. **

2 – Stuck

Hermione should have known better than to pick up the book. It'd been left out on the table, but not by her. And she was the only one who ever read the books in this library. The rest of them all acted as though they were too good to look at the dark books in the secret library that they'd discovered under the main staircase at Grimmauld Place. Hermione couldn't resist.

The hidden entrance was behind a tapestry in the first floor sitting room. It was a small chintz covered room which has two real disadvantages. First of all, it was open to the front hall where Sirius' grandmother engaged in her frequent cursing, screaming fits. Secondly, it was full of portraits of various Black relatives who grumbled and muttered about the befouling of their pristine pure-blooded abode. As a result, few people chose this sitting room when they needed a place to sit.

However, during the cleaning of Grimmauld Place Hermione had been helping Mrs. Weasley dust the room one day when she became fascinated by an ornate tapestry of a unicorn and a dragon circling each other warily. Later when she found herself living again in the old mansion, she'd come back to study it, amazed that even a woven textile could somehow contain moving figures. That's when she'd discovered that they not only moved, but also could speak – the dragon taunting, the unicorn soothing, both using the cadence of medieval speech which Hermione enjoyed.

After the Battle at Hogwarts, Grimmauld Place was reinstated as the headquarters of the Order. Now that Snape's true loyalty was revealed it was clear that its secret location had never been betrayed. Kingsley appointed a new secret keeper, Arthur Weasley, and the Order moved in. Hermione and Harry were the only ones who actually lived there, each with a room on the third floor, still the house seemed to be constantly full of people. Harry wasn't allowed out at all, since they'd been informed that capturing him was now the Dark Lord's obsession. Hermione was occasionally allowed out on raids and various missions, although she felt like they'd been having her stay back more and more lately. The Weasleys were still safe at the Burrow and the other Order members flooed in for meetings.

Hermione found that living in such a busy place was trying for her. Sometimes she craved a quiet place to be by herself and read. So the sitting room became her refuge. A silencing charm kept Mrs. Black's screeching from her ears and the portraits in the room were easily quieted by the threat of turning them around to face the wall. The bickering of the dragon and unicorn became so familiar that she could usually tune them out.

One day, as Hermione was reading a fascinating book on the effects of harvesting times on potion ingredients, the dragon looked up at her and said, "Me, poor man, my library . . . ." Without looking up Hermione answered, ". . . was dukedome large enough." She looked up with a start, realizing that she'd just finished one of her favorite Shakespeare quotes. Her father had teased her with it frequently, due to her inordinate love of books. She bit her lip and frowned at the dragon, wondering where that had come from. Then her eyes widened as she saw that a door had appeared in the tapestry that hadn't been there before. Intrigued, Hermione took a closer look. She found that the door had a handle which she could grasp, and when she pulled it a passageway opened. The unicorn nodded at her, which was enough to entice Hermione to enter, and that was how the Blacks' secret library was discovered.

Of course, many of the books were dark, or at least discussed dark matters, but Hermione felt that it was important to know what was out there. They'd needed to know about horcruxes, hadn't they? And Kingsley gave her permission to study these, so if the others disapproved that was just their problem.

So, the point was, that Hermione should have been more careful when she found a book left out on the table in her secret abode. The book had a particularly enticing title - enticing to Hermione at least – "Advanced Theory of Antidotery: Make an Antidote for Any Potion." But when she picked it up to take a closer look, she soon discovered that she couldn't set it down. Her hands were glued to it. At first she chuckled, glad for another sign that George's mischievous side was re-emerging. She kept trying to smile even as she grew concerned when she couldn't get her hands to budge. Without the use of her hands it was no easy task to open the passageway out of the library - it took her much elbow-maneuvering – then she stumbled into the kitchen trying to remember that it was just a little joke.

Professor McGonagall had been enjoying some tea with Mrs. Weasley and both began to earnestly study the entrapment of Hermione's hands, but Hermione noticed that there was a definite sniggering in the hall.

"Now I don't know what to do. That separating spell should've worked," Molly said, with concern.

"Let me check something." Minerva waved her wand over the book, casting a detecting spell. "Oh, dear. I was afraid of that. There's an imperturbable charm on this book, often done to protect valuable family heirlooms. But it's keeping the usual spells from having any effect.

Hermione knew they'd best go back to the source. "George? I know you're out there. Come help me with this."

George Weasley sauntered into the room, trying to look casual, with Ron and Harry following close behind. "Oy there, Hermione. Got a spot of bother then?"

"Yes, and I'm guessing you know something about it. What did you do to this book?"

"Just an experimental charm – a sticking prank. Comes right off with a separating spell," he said waving his wand. But nothing happened.

Ron's grin slipped into giggles which he tried to muffle in his own elbow. But George began to chew nervously on the tip of his wand. "Hmm – could be a problem."

Fifteen minutes – and a dozen failed charms – later Hermione was forcing herself to take deep breaths. "What do we do? What do we do?" she murmured.

"Don't freak out, Hermione," scolded Ron. "It's just a prank."

"Just a prank? Easy for you to say. So fix it then." Hermione's hands were beginning to hurt.

Ron was the only one still chuckling. Even Harry had grown somber.

"George Prewett Weasley – you got her into this. You take care of it this instant!" Mrs. Weasley's face had reached a dangerous shade of red.

George gave one more wave of his wand and Hermione shrieked as the book tore away from her hands, leaving her bleeding from her palms and several fingertips.

"Oh, I didn't think it would . . . ." but Hermione didn't hear whatever else he had to say. She rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her room. She was done being a good sport. She just wanted to be alone to try to make the pain go away, make the bleeding stop.

Then she found that her right hand was hurt more than her left and she kept messing up the wand motion for the healing spell. She tried doing the spell wandless, but by now she was way too upset to focus. And every time she thought again about Ron's snide comments her eyes flooded with tears again. She understood that Ron wanted to encourage George, but didn't he care about her pain at all?

At last there was a soft knock on her door. If he'd just apologize, she'd forgive him. But it wasn't red hair that she spied peering in as the door opened. It was brown – Harry.

"Oh – Harry." She immediately felt guilty at the disappointed tone in her voice. "I was just hoping that . . . ."

"Here, stay still. Let me heal that for you." She meekly held her hands out to him and in a few minutes the skin on her hands was a new skin pink. Another wave of his wand, a Scourgify, and Harry'd cleaned her shirt and jeans.

Hermione wiped her face with the back of her nearly-good-as-new hand. Harry dropped down next to her on her bed.

"I was hoping . . . that Ron would . . . ." She sighed. She wasn't sure what she'd been hoping Ron would do, but something.

"I know." Harry seemed to understand. "He was worried about George. Mrs. Weasley was letting him have it. Ron'll probably be up in a bit."

"I just wish that . . . I understand about George, but it'd be nice if I came first sometimes. I'm supposed to be his girlfriend, but it doesn't feel like . . . ." Hermione gave up, but Harry flopped back on the bed.

"I know. If it helps at all, sometimes I feel the same way. Like I'm on the outside watching all of the Weasleys be family to each other."

"Yeah." Hermione lay back too, idly studying the cracks in the ceiling.

"Don't worry. The feeling usually passes."

After a moment Hermione said "How are you doing? You seem quiet lately. Quieter than usual."

"I know. I just feel . . . off. Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts. I was so sure that it'd all be over, that I was going to beat him for good. I felt like I could do it, too. But, instead, he disappeared. They all disappeared. I don't understand what happened, why he took off, what I'm supposed to do now. And I know you'll say it's a good thing, but my connection with Voldy is gone. It feels good, don't get me wrong - but weird. And I'm wondering if I'm still even the 'Chosen One'."

"You still want to be 'chosen'? I thought you'd had enough of that."

"I would have, if I'd finished him. But now – do I still have a special role? Or am I just another fighter? The Order treats me like I can do something amazing, but I sure don't know what it is. Then there's the horcruxes – they were all gone. Is he making more? Do we have to start all over?"

"Don't you think at some point he'd be afraid to split his soul anymore?"

"Maybe, or perhaps he's not human enough to be afraid. Maybe he doesn't even care anymore. Add to it the whole thing with the Elder Wand."

"Yeah – he killed Snape so he could be 'master' of it and it turned out to be nothing at all. It didn't seem to work as well as a regular wand. You saw that – he couldn't hurt Neville, his silencing didn't stick, . . . nothing."

"Hermione – you know that was a good thing."

"Of course. A great thing. Just . . . what a waste for Snape to die for a myth."

"I'm not sure it's a myth."

"Harry, you just want it to be true. You want some special wand that can kill him, some easy way out."

"None of this is easy, . . . but there's more to it than that. See – I was thinking – I don't think Snape was the master of Dumbledore's wand."

"What?"

"You know what, when we can I want to show you my memory of that night, . . . y'know, the night Dumbledore . . . died. I think it's still important. The thing is, first off Dumbledore wanted Snape to kill him. They had an agreement. So that's not Snape defeating Dumbledore. But even if it was – I don't know how it works – what counts as defeating someone."

"So you don't think Dumbledore was defeated – but then, would taking his wand from him, from his tomb, would that count?"

"Yeah. Or there's more. See Snape didn't disarm Dumbledore. That'd already been done."

"It had? By whom?"

"Malfoy. That's the first thing that happened. Dumbledore was weak, weak from the poison he drank, and maybe from the curse in his hand too. Malfoy disarmed him as soon as he came up."

"Wow. So Malfoy could be the master of the Elder Wand, . . . if there even is such a thing, if it even matters."

"Yeah, or . . . ."

Hermione waited for him to go on, still wondering if all of this meant something or if it was just a myth. She turned to look at Harry. He was just staring at the ceiling.

"Harry? What? What were you going to say?"

"Promise you won't laugh."

"Don't worry. I'm not in a laughing mood."

"The thing is, at Malfoy Manor, you might not have seen it, but I took three wands from Malfoy. Just grabbed them out of his hand. Does that count as disarming?"

Hermione tried to remember. Had she ever seen a definition of disarming? Where would you find such a thing? "It seems like it would. It shouldn't matter if you did it by magic or not. I mean, Voldemort took Dumbledore's wand, just took it out of his hand I guess. He probably didn't use any magic for that. But does it matter whether it was the Elder Wand you took, or does disarming the master of the Elder Wand, is that enough?"

"And what if he didn't fight me? What if he just let me have them?"

"He didn't fight you for them?"

"No, but it might have been because I surprised him. He wasn't expecting me to just grab them."

"Maybe. Although . . . he did act strangely that night."

"Come on, Hermione. I thought you'd given up on that whole maybe he's changed bit." Harry's tone was kind, but his words still stung.

After the Battle of Hogwarts Hermione had told Ron and Harry that she'd seen something different in Malfoy that night, that she thought he'd turned on the Dark Lord. They hadn't been convinced, but she'd run into him in a hallway, while she was looking for Harry. They'd spoken, almost friendly words. When Voldemort disappeared with all his Death Eaters, she'd been truly surprised that Draco had chosen to go with them. It was all settled for certain, at least for Harry and Ron, during the later attack on Diagon Alley. Malfoy had killed Katie Bell, point blank, with an Avada Kedavra. Hermione's head told her she'd been wrong, but she still couldn't forget when she'd seen real regret in his eyes.

It wasn't something she could explain to Harry though. Best to just avoid the subject altogether. She turned her mind back to the Elder Wand.

"Harry – we have to be careful about this. I was thinking . . . at first I was thinking we should ask Olivander about it. We should ask him what counts. I'm not even sure if he'd know. But now . . . I don't think we should. I just don't trust him that much. If you are . . . if you are the master of the Elder Wand . . . that's dangerous. We shouldn't tell anyone what you think."

"I know. In fact, . . . Hermione, don't take this wrong. Don't tell _anyone_."

Hermione stared at him, trying to figure out if he meant what she thought he meant. "You mean . . . ," her voice came out as a whisper, "Ron?"

"Yeah." Harry face flinched with guilt. "Don't tell him. . . . It's just that . . . I don't know . . . I don't know how he'd take it."

"Okay." Hermione felt horrible. They'd be breaking their trio again. Somehow though, she thought maybe Harry was right.

"I'll tell him later. When we know more." Hermione bit her lip. She wondered if Harry really meant that. As they lay on the bed in silence, Hermione vaguely listened to the noises below them in the house – talking, doors closing, people moving about.

"Harry? What if it isn't you? What if it's Malfoy?"

"I don't think he'd know. I don't think he'd even know that Dumbledore had it, that Voldemort thinks he has it."

"Unless Voldemort tells him." Hermione tried to picture that scene. She couldn't quite do it.

"Which would be stupid, but he might do it, might brag about it."

"Do you think Malfoy would put it together? What happened on the tower?"

"He might. He's smart . . . and he saw, like all of us saw, that it wasn't working right for Voldemort." Harry frowned, trying to remember where Malfoy had been, there at the end.

"Do you think Voldemort knows? Do you think he'll figure it out?"

"If he does, Malfoy's a dead man."

Hermione shivered, remembering how cold Voldemort had been, how matter of fact, when he killed Professor Snape.

"Harry – so you think it still has to be you – you still have to kill him?"

"I think I have to give it a shot."

Hermione chewed her lip, trying to figure out how to ask an awkward question. "Is that why . . . well, how are things with Ginny? I mean, now that he can't see into your head any more. Is it safe enough for you to . . . ."

Harry smiled at her bumbling. "Did she put you up to this?"

"No. No, although she has talked to me about it. She just wants to know where she stands with you, what you're thinking. You should talk to her."

"You're right. I'm just being a coward. The connection is broken, but it's not like she'd be safe. He still hates me, and still would use any of my friends against me."

"She's not safe then now. No safer than any of the rest of us. Have you talked to her about this?" Hermione heard footsteps, coming up the stairs. It was about time.

"No . . . I want to, I do. It's just that I hardly ever get to see her. Her parents are so worried about her. They're keeping her away from the rest of us, I think. When I do get to talk to her, we're hardly ever alone and . . . ."

"Is that it, really? I think you're just punishing yourself or . . . ."

There was a faint knock on the door – "Hello? Hey, Hermione?" It was Ron.

"In here." She rolled her eyes at Harry and sat up. Ron peeked in the door, then hurried in, holding a plate out in front of him.

"I . . . uh . . . brought you a sandwich." He held it out to her.

She knew this was a peace offering. She wasn't hungry, but she said "Thanks," and took the plate.

"I'll just leave you two . . . to . . . uh . . . chat or whatever." Harry stood and fidgeted for a moment, before heading out. Just as he went out the door, he looked back at Hermione to make sure she was okay. She nodded, then turned to look at Ron.

"So what is this? Turkey on rye?"

"Yeah. Mustard, no mayonnaise." He'd gotten that part right. "So, um, . . . how're your hands doing?"

Hermione had just taken a bite of the sandwich, so she held up a hand, palm out, to show him the newly healed pink skin.

"Oh, so they weren't so bad then." Ron leaned back against the chair by her desk.

Hermione swallowed, and shot Ron a stern look. "No, Ronald, they were. Harry healed them for me."

"Oh. I mean, I was going to . . . ." There was a loud crack of apparition downstairs, followed immediately by the sound of the front door opening, a crash that shook the house, and a deep groan.

"What the . . . ." Ron began, but Hermione was already on her feet. They hurried down the stairs, as others emerged from all over the house. As they reached the top of the first floor stairs they could see Hagrid's enormous form on the floor of the front hall.

Harry had been the first to reach him. He yelled, loudly to be heard over Walburga Black, "Someone get a healer! And some of that dittany stuff! And some towels!"

"Accio dittany!" Hermione summoned the dittany she kept in her room, and grabbing the bottle as it flew down the stairs, ran down to Harry.

"Hagrid? Can you hear me? What happened?" Harry now had Hagrid's huge head in his lap. Hermione started to use the dittany on a set of three slashes across Hagrid's cheek, but Harry waved her off, pointing to Hagrid's torso. Hermione glanced down and realized that Hagrid's shirt was torn and his entire front was coated in blood.

"Was in the forbidden forest, . . ." Hermione was quite relieved that he was conscious and able to talk, even if his voice wasn't as strong as usual. "They jumped me, a half dozen of 'em, the cowards."

"Who? Who did this?"

"Greyback . . . and a whole pack of his friends."

"Where does it hurt the worst, Hagrid?" Hermione was not sure where to begin.

"Me leg. Reckon I splinched meself. Never apparated before." Hermione found a large and spreading spot of blood on his lower left leg. She took some dittany on her hand and reached gingerly into the tear in Hagrid's pant leg.

"Had they turned?" Harry asked. Hagrid looked at him, puzzled. "Were they . . . you know . . . werewolves?"

"No. Just a bunch of mangy looking folks. Most of 'em just hit me with sticks and stuff."

There was the sound of someone pushing his way down the stairs. "Excuse me, pardon me, can I get through?"

Hermione looked up to see most of the house's inhabitants gathered either in the hall or on the staircase, and the short, stocky form of Healer Pye elbowing his way down the stairs behind them.

Harry had one more question, as Healer Pye reached Hagrid and began to roll up his sleeves. "What were you doing out there in the forest?"

"Needed . . . wolfsbane. I'm . . . uh . . . that's a problem. Hermione, I reckon we're gonna need . . . some research."

"That's enough. I have work to do here." Healer Pye shoo'd them away and Hermione and Harry retreated to sit on the stairs with Ron and wait.


	3. Chapter 3 - Lessons

3 – Lessons

"Mother! This is not negotiable. You have to go!" Draco yanked on his own shirt collar, popping the top button off and loosening the tie clinging to his neck. There was a cool October breeze blowing through the Manor garden, but sweat ran down his face as he shouted at Narcissa's back.

She spun on the garden path to face him.

"Silencio!" She kept her wand raised at him, but he stepped back, mute and shocked. "Now – you _will_ listen to me." Her voice was low and even. "I know that I could run, I could probably hide from him for a while, but what good would that do? We know now that you and your father can't run. As long as you have your Dark Marks he can always summon you, always pull you to where he is. The two of you are my whole world. How long do you think it would be until he found me and presented me with a box of your body parts? You know you'd both be dead as soon as I left."

Draco didn't argue. Of course, he'd been silenced, but he knew she was right. Narcissa's face softened. She went to him and reached up to take his face in her hands.

"You must turn me in. It's the only way that any of us can survive. I knew when I went to them that my own life was forfeit. All I've ever wanted was your happiness, and therefore, the Dark Lord has to be stopped."

He opened his mouth, then remembered her curse. With a flick of her wand she released him.

"You haven't done that to me for years," he said.

"I'm sorry. But you have to understand . . . ."

"I do." He closed his eyes, trying to block the pain of his thoughts. "Don't you see? He's ruined everything. There'll be no happy life for me." He looked like an old man, tired and resigned.

"I'd think so too, except . . . I know that you and your father put no stock in divination, but do you remember the gypsy seer I told you about?"

"The one who told you before I was born that I'd be blond, in Slytherin and love quidditch? Mother, none of that was exactly hard to predict."

"That's not actually what she said. Your father and I didn't want to burden you with her prophecy, but now you need to know. I haven't forgotten a word. She put her hands on my pregnant stomach and said, 'I see a boy - a strong and handsome boy. He will approach the Chosen One, but suffer rejection."

Draco's head jerked up. He'd never told his parents about Potter's rebuff.

"The Chosen One will always take the snitch from him, until he finds what he truly seeks. He will be chosen himself for a crime he will not commit. The Elder Wand will be his, but he will not wield it. He will give you a grandchild you shall never see – Scorpius Nicodemus Malfoy - and the line will survive."

Narcissa sat down on the cement garden bench, and gestured for Draco to join her. He did as he tried to absorb her incredible words.

"What is all of that? The Elder Wand? I thought that was just a story."

"I have no idea. Haven't some of those words already proven true?"

"Yes, but . . . it doesn't make any sense. You can't give up your life based on a riddle like that."

"It's not like we have any other choice. But her words give me hope that there's a way through this that we don't see. Now, let's get back to work. We have at most a couple of weeks before he can't be stalled any longer. You're making progress with the wandless spells. At least you have 'Accio' and that's the most important one. You can do things with portkeys that go far beyond my skills. But I want to show you one more thing. Try Convulsio on me again."

"Alright, but what good is causing convulsions anyway? How can that help against the dark spells the others use?"

"You won't like it. Have you been working on your non-verbal spells?"

"Yes, I'm getting much more consistent."

"Show me."

Draco flicked his wand at a nearby cherub statue and ropes appeared binding it, then disappeared.

"Good. Then have you practiced doing non-verbal spells while saying a different spell?"

He nodded and they both stood up. He pointed his wand at a topiary bush and said "Silencio" while causing the bush to levitate for a moment before he set it back down.

"Good. Now I need you to hit me with Convulsio while saying 'Crucio.'"

Draco's eyes widened with realization. "No, Mother. I won't."

"You know what he's going to make you do. This way I'll feel no pain."

"But Mother, what do I do when he says that I have to . . . ?"

"Don't worry about that part. I have a plan. You have to trust me. You do trust me, don't you?"

"You're the only one I trust." He closed his eyes as the thought of losing her hit him again. There was one thing he had to ask her, one thing he couldn't understand. "How can you forgive me so easily for what I've done, for how my thoughtless bragging brought this all on us?"

"There is nothing to forgive, Draco. What you did, you were doing for me. You had no way of knowing. I have more trouble forgiving myself. If I'd trusted you then none of this would have happened."

"But I played the heartless bastard so well that you couldn't . . . . "

"There's no point in regrets. None of us will ever be free as long as he lives. I always hoped that you were just playing along, that you didn't mean the things you said."

"And did."

"Yes. My greatest fear was that you were sincere, that you'd really bought into all of that nonsense. I can't help but rejoice that you are still my Draco, still your own man, not his slave."

"If hadn't been such a convincing jerk . . . ."

"I thank God that you are such an excellent actor. You have to be."

He looked over at her, staring intently into her eyes. "You still believe in God?"

"I do. That's another reason I can accept my fate. I know my death won't be the end."

"I wish I knew that." Draco turned from her and gripped his face in one hand. His head was pounding. "What will I do without you?"

"You'll find others that you can trust. I'm going to let them know that you'll be taking my place. Are you willing to do that?"

"I might as well."

"You'll be able to do much more than I could. You are already earning his trust. Once you turn me in, he'll trust you with anything. Are you okay?" She studied his face intently.

"Headache."

"Nappy!" Within seconds after she'd called a wizened house elf appeared. She was wearing a pink pillowcase, with intricate white embroidery along the bottom. Her white hair sat on top of her head in a neat bun.

"Master. Mistress." The elf bowed a greeting. She took one look at Draco, who was again holding his head in his hands and asked "Master needs a headache potion?"

"No, actually I'd like you to bring the blue bottle from the right end of the second shelf in the potions cabinet." Narcissa gestured, as she remembered where the right potion was.

"As Mistresses wishes."

Nappy disapparated, then reappeared with a cobalt blue bottle.

"The potion for Mistress."

"Thank you. And we'll take dinner on the veranda tonight."

"Yes, Mistress. The usual time?"

"Yes." Narcissa took a small glass out of one of her robe's pockets and poured a small amount of pearlescent liquid into it. "Here," she said, handing the glass to Draco. "Sit down and take this."

He sat back down on the bench and emptied the glass quickly, then raised his head, eyes closed, as he felt the potion flowing through him. His headache dissolved. All pain slipped away and his mind filled with his mother's affection.

"Better?" Narcissa asked.

"Yes," he sighed. He felt so relaxed he could hardly move. "I always feel like I could do anything when I drink that."

"I know." She stood behind him and rested her hands on his shoulders. They were both silent.

Draco gradually became aware of the twittering of chickadees in a nearby bush. He wished he could keep all thought out of his head, but it seeped back in.

"I've never learned to brew it." He opened his eyes and looked up at her, trying not to think of the many things he'd never get a chance to learn from her.

"I'm leaving you some memories. They're already at the summer cottage, in the kitchen with my potions jars. The day I learned "Amorita" is in there."

"You can't teach it to me now?" He already knew the answer to his question.

"We don't have time. By the way, there's a box in my room at the cottage. It's blood-sealed. I've left some things there for you – a list of what memories are there, our betrothal rings, some old photos, just some various heirlooms. If you have any questions about any of it, Nappy can help you."

He nodded. Nappy had been a gift from the Black family. She'd been with his mother since she was a girl.

"Some of those things might be . . . Oh – Lucius, darling! How are you?"

Draco turned to see his father coming up the walk, beaming in a way that he never had when his mind had been stable.

"Narcissa, Draco, lovely day for sitting in the gardens, isn't it?"

Draco's stomach turned. He closed his eyes. He hated his father for being so happy, for having no idea that they weren't just enjoying smelling the flowers. He had no idea what to say to him, and, as much as he loved his mother, the way she dealt with his father was just strange.

"Absolutely lovely, dear. I've always found this fountain so enchanting." She walked over and apparently gave his father a kiss. Draco wouldn't know. He was looking away.

"Draco, I was hoping to find you here." Draco had been hoping that his father wouldn't see him. Nowadays anything was possible, although luck apparently wasn't with him today. He turned slowly towards him. There was no way he could just ignore him.

"Father." He nodded his head toward him.

"I was speaking with Mr. Parkinson the other day. He was wondering why he hasn't seen more of you lately." Lucius raised his eyebrows.

"I'm sorry. I've been very busy."

"You haven't had a falling out with Miss Parkinson, have you?"

"No, Father. I just . . . ." He actually hoped that Mr. Parkinson had sent Pansy to stay with her mother in Majorca. Even if it would never work out between them, she was still his oldest friend.

"I understand. It's difficult to shift from friendship to courtship now that you're both of age. You and Miss Parkinson know each other so well. I'm sure you'll work things out."

"We'll see."

Why couldn't his father have been like this when it was real? Why did he have to be insane to finally be reasonable to talk to? Draco let out a sharp scoffing laugh at that thought.

His mother frowned at him, misinterpreting his laugh, then turned back to Lucius.

"Dinner will be on the veranda."

"Of course, I'll see you then." He gave her a quick peck on the check, and headed back down the path.

"Come Draco. We need to get you ready for what you'll have to do."

He nodded, sitting up as she walked over and sat next to him.

She put her hand over his. "The Dark Lord is so careful now. You know the Potter boy will never be able to get to him. But you - you are going to be his right hand man and from there, you'll be in the perfect position to destroy him forever."

He looked up at her. "I couldn't kill Dumbledore. What makes you think I can kill the Dark Lord?"

"The problem was that you didn't really want to kill Dumbledore. I think you feel quite differently about the Dark Lord. Am I right?"

"Absolutely, but . . . you know Aunt Bella says he can block Avada Kedavra. What if that's true?"

"We both know my sister is insane. However, even if Avada Kedavra won't work, there'll be another way. You have to study his weaknesses and you know that he has them. Your magic has always been strong, especially when you put your mind to something. Now you're growing more disciplined by the day. And you've learned so much about what's important."

"What's important to me is you. If you're gone, there's no point to it, to anything."

Narcissa put both hands behind herself and leaned back on her arms, looking at the fountain without seeing it. "I used to think that there was nothing more important in this world to me than you. But then I realized that we were all becoming enslaved by the Dark Lord. And you – the real you – I was afraid that you were becoming his pawn. And then I knew that just being alive, just surviving was not enough."

Draco was looking up at her now, as though seeing her anew, one adult to another.

"Enough about all that," she said, sitting upright again, shifting her shoulders back into her usual perfect posture. "We need to go over how you managed to find out there was a spy, then how you managed to catch me. Whatever mistakes I made, we need to make sure that you won't be making them."

"Then using an owl is out - as is prowling around the family plot in the middle of the night."

"I know. You've got to find something more secure. Is that how you knew there was a spy? Did you intercept one of my messages from Mercurius?"

"Yes, but later. After I knew someone was passing information."

She quirked her eyebrows at him in a silent question.

"You know how Greyback has his obsession with Granger, Potter's friend?"

"The muggleborn girl? Yes, I've heard."

"He's not exactly subtle. Everyone knows. That's why he's hardly ever called to go on raids. He's too . . . unpredictable, won't focus on anything but finding her. But one night - the raid at the Muggle theatre - the Dark Lord sent him with us. And I noticed . . . it was the first raid I could remember when I didn't see her. She's always one of the first ones there."

"So you thought she'd been tipped off that Greyback would be there?"

"I suspected. I set up a test. The next two raids - she was there again."

"Is she that easy to spot?"

"Yeah. All the ones I was at school with, I know them well. She's short and her wand motions are very distinctive – precise, efficient, often uses new spells. Plus she has a head-full of bushy hair, even pulled back, she's easy to spot."

His mother nodded, encouraging him to go on.

"So I asked for Greyback to come with us again, the night we attacked the docks. Sure enough, she wasn't there. Someone was letting them know."

"You're right. That was one of the things I was always to watch for. When you talk to your contact you'll need to tell them to keep her off of all of the raids. Don't tip anyone else off."

"But there'll be other things. As long as they're using my information, there'll be patterns."

"Watch for them. Make sure there are exceptions to every rule. Don't give them everything."

Draco nodded and his face hardened with resolve. "What I need to do, is find a way to kill him soon. Before anyone has time to catch me out."

"The sooner the better."

Two weeks later – it was time. As Draco walked through the torchlit halls of the Manor the light seemed to be already fading. He could already smell the ash. His breath began to quicken, but long years of habit made him notice, made him pull it back, back to normal, back to unafraid, back to calm.

Think of something else, something easy. "Nicodemus." He'd been searching for that name – first in the portraits that populated the Manor, then in the pureblood lineage books in the library. Who had time to write such books anyway? He'd been mildly surprised when the name hadn't shown up in the Parkinson line, then again when it wasn't there in the Greengrass chapter. He'd told him mother none of them would be for him, but apparently he hadn't fully believed himself. He'd gone through the whole book. The name wasn't there.

He shouldn't have been surprised. It didn't feel right. It didn't sound familiar. He was almost certain he'd never heard of anyone with that name. Maybe it was a Muggle name. He smiled at the thought. Even if his father was beyond scandalizing now, others wouldn't be. Then he caught himself and sighed. Not something he could do now, maybe in a later life.

He went into the garden, then stood in the moonlit shadows of a hedge, waiting for his mother. It was time to set their plan in motion. He'd capture her tonight, then turn her over to the Dark Lord. It had to be now. No more stalling. His mother had told him, and she was right – damn her – that he couldn't wait for the Dark Lord to summon him. He needed to go to him. Their time was up.

And they would play the whole thing out. If the house elves were questioned, even questioned by his father who they couldn't lie to, they'd say the right things. And if, no, when the Dark Lord barged into his mind there would be the right memories there, it would all be as real as possible. The emotion wouldn't be right, but the Dark Lord was never very good at reading emotion. As long as fear was there, the Dark Lord wouldn't be able to discern the exact nature of the fear.

Draco was afraid, more afraid than he'd ever been. Afraid of losing her, afraid of being alone. There had to be another way. Maybe they could fake her death? He knew now that they could fake Crucio, so there was that, but they knew the Dark Lord wouldn't let her off with just Crucio. No – she'd be executed and Draco was going to have to do it to prove that he renounced the traitor. There was no way he could. Not only he didn't want to, but he wouldn't be able to. Avada Kedavra only worked with sufficient hatred behind it. He'd managed to use it on some Muggles by concentrating on his hatred for the Dark Lord. But that only worked because he felt nothing for the Muggles. He'd killed Katie Bell during a raid, but that'd actually been an accident. He loved his mother, loved her more than anything, more than anyone. He could never kill her and then what would happen?

She kept telling him not to worry, that she had that part covered. Had she found a way to fake her own death? Or was it a way to ensure her death? She seemed untroubled by her own impending demise. Or was it just pureblood training keeping her poised to the end?

Damn her. She was so stubborn and she was right. Turning her in, exposing his own mother as a spy would make the Dark Lord trust him completely. But then – the Dark Lord was powerful. He'd have to make sure that he wouldn't fail when he got the chance to kill him. He would only get one chance and he'd have to do it all alone. His mother wouldn't be there to help him. But no matter how he moved the pieces he couldn't come up with another way.

"Draco? Are you ready?" She was here. It was time.

"No, Mother. I'll never be ready for this." Just a few more minutes when he could really talk to her, he wasn't going to waste them with lies.

"You're ready. You can do this. But . . . ."

He looked up at her. She'd been so certain. Was she having doubts too?

"There's something I need to say to you." He looked into her eyes. In this light she looked so frail, so sad, so old. "I'm sorry, Draco."

"What? No, Mother, you have nothing to . . . ."

"Shh." She put her palm against his cheek. "Listen, I _am_ sorry. I've put you in a horrible position. I've been as bad as your father, giving you no choice, no real voice in what you have to do. I'm sorry. And if you don't want to do this, you don't have to. I'll do whatever you want to do. If you want me to run away, I will."

"We know what would happen."

"Yes."

One last time he tried to think of another way, another path to take. She was offering him an out. It wasn't much of one. He'd be killed, probably slowly, but she would live. And then he saw, that dying and physical torment, that was the easy part. Going on and living alone, that was the real torture. She didn't want to do that and he couldn't ask her to.

"It's not your fault, Mother. It's him. He's left us no good choices." He knew that she thought he was speaking of Voldemort, but in his mind he meant both of them, Voldemort, yes, but also his father. "Mother, if you run, if I die, he'll go on. They may never bring him down and all of England, maybe the whole world, will fall into darkness. If we do this, if I stay, I can kill him. There may be no happy ending for us, but at least this nightmare will end. Others will be able to live freely. We have a chance to end it. We have to do it."

"You are so brave." Of course she thought so. She was his mother. Was it brave when there were no other real choices? "I sent one last message to my contact in the Order. I told him about the new procedures we've discussed, well most of them."

Draco had to smile at the devious smirk on his mother's face. Of course, she wouldn't tell the Order that he was going to be much more careful with information now.

"When you're ready, go to the summer cottage. Everything is in order there."

He nodded, not trusting his voice. The world was about to end, his world, and she was so calm, so composed. Then she grasped his hand. She looked into his face and saw the emotion behind her eyes.

"Make me a promise." Her voice was soft but insistent.

He frowned at her. What could he promise?

"Promise me that if you find a chance to be happy, you'll take it."

"Of course I would." He knew there would be no such chance.

She shook her head. "Not of course. You don't think it will happen."

He had to smile. She knew him so well.

"Someday, there will be someone - someone you could love. Don't run away."

"No there won't, Mother. There's no one left I could love." All of the girls he'd met, all the lovely prospects he'd had, they had died or run away. Any who were still here would soon fear him, soon hate him. Even Pansy, he knew he'd never love her. She had been his friend though. Soon she wouldn't be.

"You don't know. Maybe there's someone you've never met, someone you'll find when this is all over. You don't know. But when you do, don't punish yourself. I know you. I know you'll think that you don't deserve happiness. Don't feel guilty about me. You do deserve to be happy, so promise me that you'll try."

He sighed. How could he lie to her now? What she was asking wasn't possible. He already hated himself and it was going to get worse. He was going to have to do so many horrible things.

"I'm waiting."

She was unbelievable. He looked into her eyes, her beautiful sky blue eyes. She had so much hope there. He could see her as a young girl, still happy, still hoping for a happy ending, so he did what he had to do.

"I promise."

"You know, I believe in an afterlife. I don't know what it is, but I'm going to wait for you there and I'll be watching. When he makes you do the things you'll have to do, I'll understand. When you have the chance, when the moment comes to kill him, I'll be there with you. I'll feel your triumph and when love comes, I'll be watching." She smiled. "I'll be pushing you to forgive yourself, to take the love you can find."

"You just want to see little Scorpius Nicodemus."

"And when he is born I will even forgive you for giving my dear grandson that horrible name."

He couldn't say anything. He pulled her into a hug, felt her soft hair against his cheek, and wished that he could hold this memory forever.

**AN – I hope you're enjoying the story so far. I'd love some more feedback, so leave me a review. How do you like it? Any concrit? I'd love to hear from you.**


	4. Chapter 4 - Spinning

Chapter 4 – Spinning

"I still think he was just sizing us up," Ron said as he leaned his chair back on its back two legs. The magically charmed chalk hovering in front of the blackboard jotted down "sizing us up."

"That makes no sense," said Bill. Ron shot him a dark look, but he continued. "That wouldn't have taken so long and why stage a full attack? Why not just send in a spy or something."

"Maybe he was creating a distraction?" Fleur stared off into space as she spoke.

"But what would he be distracting us from?" Kingsley wondered, as the chalk noted that one down. "Presumably it worked. Shouldn't whatever we were being distracted from have surfaced by now?"

No one offered an answer and they all sat in silence as the chalk hung in the air. Mr. Weasley gave a heavy sigh and leaned against his arm onto the table.

_"Harry,"_ Hermione whispered in his ear, _"you have to tell them your theory."_ She'd been the one who suggested that they try the muggle technique of brainstorming to gather all possible explanations of Voldemort's abrupt disapparation out of the Hogwarts Battle. Just as Harry had reappeared, and hope had been rekindled, Voldemort, and all of his Death Eaters, had vanished. While it was possible someone else would have a good idea, she'd actually just wanted to force Harry to share his theorywith the others_._

Harry shook his head slightly, but Shacklebolt glanced over from where he was pacing near the head of the table. "Was there something else, Harry?"

Harry glared at Hermione, but everyone had turned to face him.

"Well, I . . . uh . . . we were talking, and I just wondered. We've been assuming that old Snake Nose had some great plan." Now that they knew his name was taboo they used various rude nicknames. Snake Nose was a favorite. "But what if this wasn't part of a plan. What if something happened that made him give up his plan. Like he did have a plan, but then realized it wasn't working."

"Are you saying you think he ran away?" Bill tried to sound neutral, but his voice was skeptical, as "ran away" was added to the list on the board.

"That makes it sound . . . well, I guess I am." Harry stared back at Bill.

"So you think you scared him away?" Shacklebolt's words were harsh, but his voice was neutral, contemplating.

Mr. Weasley looked up. "If that was true, then what? What's he doing now?"

"No idea," Harry said, slumping back into his chair.

Hermione couldn't believe them. Their response was just as bad as Harry predicted that it would be. She'd been thinking about bringing up another issue, an even stranger issue, but now – no, it wouldn't be received well. The thing was that she didn't think that all of the Death Eaters had left willingly. Actually, there was just one Death Eater that she had that feeling about – Draco Malfoy. She'd seen his face when the Dark Lord had brought forth Harry's apparently dead body. He hadn't been rejoicing, in fact, he'd looked appalled. Then he caught her away, and looked away as though he was ashamed. Why would he have done that? How could he have turned around and fled willingly with the Dark Lord after that? She had no answers, which of course bothered her to no end. She'd even found herself lying in bed, wondering, trying to put together the strange puzzle pieces. Harry and Ron hated Malfoy so much that it was no use discussing the issue with them. Now, unfortunately, she realized that she'd get much the same reaction if she brought him up with the whole Order. She tried, and failed, to suppress a sigh.

Harry caught her eye, and shrugged. He thought she was reacting to the reception of his theory. The whole room sat in uncomfortable silence until Shacklebolt announced "I think that's enough for today. Let's come back to this later, when we've had more time to think."

"_We have nothing, but time to think,"_ Hermione scoffed mentally, but she kept it to herself.

"You all have your duty schedules. Unless there are any major attacks our next meeting is one week from tonight. One last thing, if any of you know of any place we might find wolfsbane, any place other than the Forbidden Forrest that is, please let me know. That's all. Meeting adjourned."

Hermione looking over the schedule as she headed for the door. It listed who was to be ready. They took it in shifts, that way they could respond quickly with raids on possible Death Eater hideouts or to defend against an attack. If more people were needed and available they'd get themselves together as quickly as possible, but someone was always ready. She frowned and stopped in the doorway, then stepped aside as Mrs. Weasley muttered an "excuse me." Hermione skimmed through the second page of the schedule, then flipped back to the first page again.

"Um . . . Minister?"

Kingsley looked up from the papers he was pulling into a neat stack.

"I don't seem to be on the duty schedule. Not at all."

"Oh, yes. I meant to discuss that with you. Actually, I need to talk to you and Potter. Could you call him back in?"

Hermione leaned into the hallway and called "Harry?" and soon she, Harry and Kingsley were seated again at the table.

Kingsley folded his hands together and brought them up under his chin. "Miss Granger, as you've noticed, for the time being, you won't be going out any more." His deep voice was even, but firm.

"Can I ask why?"

"We've lost our source. We now have no way of knowing whether or not Greyback will be there and we've made an executive decision that you're too valuable to lose to his mania." She couldn't tell if "we" was a group of people, or only Kingsley referring to himself. She sighed as she realized that it didn't matter.

"I do have some good news for you two. Since you won't be going on raids, we've decided that the two of you, working together, can conduct some separate missions, missions that are not expected to involve directly fighting Death Eaters."

Harry's eyes, which had been fixed on the table, popped up. "Where? When?"

"We have a number of locations, now vacant locations, that need inspecting."

"Locations?" Hermione hated the vagueness of that term. "Are we talking buildings, fields, what?"

"Living quarters. We've lost some good people in the past year or so and we've sealed up their residences, but we haven't had the manpower available to go through and deal with the contents."

"And by 'deal with' you mean . . . ." Hermione's patience was running low. She wasn't in the mood for Kingsley's laid back way of explaining things.

"Mostly inventorying, after checking for wards, curses, etc. We'll send you with an impervious bag to retrieve anything that seems suspect."

"Suspect?" This time Harry jumped in.

"That'll be your judgment call. Dangerous, yes, but also anything that looks like it could be immediately useful."

"What about Ron?" Hermione asked.

"His wand is needed for the raids." It was Harry's turn to sigh. Ron wasn't going to like this.

Kingsley had stopped speaking and was slipping his papers into his briefcase. Hermione decided not to say anything. In interrogations silence often worked better than threats to get someone to keep talking, to say something more. Harry was either playing along, or just contemplating the assignment. After a few moments, Kingsley quirked his eyebrows at them and she knew he was onto her technique and wasn't going to volunteer anything more.

"So . . . ." she said.

"Yes?"

"Do we get to find out where we'll be going?"

"That's on a need to know basis."

"Don't we need to know?"

"Yes." He paused. "But not yet."

"Why the hell do you two get all the special assignments?" Ron slammed his fist down on the kitchen table. Hermione was glad for Harry's help. She didn't want to face Ron's wrath alone. She also hoped that having this discussion in the kitchen would give her a chance to distract Ron with some food, after he'd gotten the bad news.

"Ron . . . ." She glanced at Harry, then realized that he was looking to her for the explanation. "It's not a special assignment. It's more just some cleaning up to keep us busy since they don't want either of us going on raids for now."

"They're never going to let Harry go on any raids." Ron was right, but his cutting tone made Harry flinch. "And you . . . why are you off the raids?"

Hermione knew she was a hypocrite because his question bothered her. If he'd wanted her to stay home to be safe she'd say 'no,' but it would be nice if he cared a little about her safety. "They lost their source, the one who let them know whether Greyback would be there."

"That must be why Dad's so down lately." At least Ron noticed somebody's moods. "By lost . . . they died?"

"I guess. Kingsley didn't say."

"He never does." Ron deflated as he sat down at the table.

"We tried to get him to let you come with us, but he said they needed your wand on the raids." Harry sat next to Ron, almost pleading.

"Yeah, it's just . . . it feels wrong not to be with you guys."

Hermione found a plate of cookies up on a shelf and put it down on the table, as she sat down too. "Hopefully they'll get a new source and I'll be back in action."

"Don't think even a new source would work for me." Harry bit down on a cookie, and passed the plate to Ron.

Hermione began making a list of what to do when they reached . . . wherever they were going. "1. Check for wards, 2. Check and cover portraits, 3. Perform Homenum revelio, . . ." She stopped, bit her lip and frowned, then set down her quill and picked up her wand. She waved her wand over the paper and "Perform Homenum revelio" moved up to the number one spot. She picked her quill back up and went on – "4. Put up protective wards while we work, . . . ."

Glum silence prevailed, but she ignored it, other than wishing things didn't feel so off.

Four days later there was a raid. Hermione gave Ron a kiss on the cheek just before he followed Neville into the Floo, then went to meet Kingsley and Harry in the kitchen.

Tonight Kingsley was not playing games. "Are you familiar with Spinner's End?"

Hermione shook her head, but Harry frowned. "I've heard of it somewhere, but . . . ."

"Your former professor, Professor Snape, lived there when he wasn't in residence at Hogwarts." Kingsley looked back and forth at the two. "I understand you've already listed what you plan to do. Can I see it?"

Hermione had already retrieved her list. She handed it to Kingsley and, after perusing it for a few moments, he said, "Excellent. The only thing I'd add is to make sure that you look the place over thoroughly, methodically, after you make sure it is safe. Then, when you've returned, you can save those memories for a pensieve. If we ever want to know what was there, or check to see if you missed something, we can check those memories."

"Oh, like an inventory!" Hermione's face lit up. It was such a good idea.

Harry nodded, but Kingsley frowned. "A what?"

"It must be a Muggle term. Sorry."

The only other problem was how to get there. Apparation was out since, neither Harry nor Hermione had been there before.

"Take a look at this map. Have either of you been to any of the towns in the area?"

Harry shook his head, knowing that he'd actually seen very little of England. The Dursleys had never taken him anywhere, and the sites they'd chosen to camp in during their quest for the horcruxes had been chosen because they weren't near any place of consequence.

Hermione, however, studied the map conscientiously. "I remember Cheetham Hill. My mother's aunt lived there and we visited several times. But that looks like it would be quite the walk."

"I can bring my broom. We'll apparate there, then disillusion ourselves and fly the rest of the way." Harry was happy to be able to contribute.

Hermione bit her lip, but she couldn't think of a good reason to refuse to fly, nor could she think of any other way to reach Spinner's End in good time. Kingsley, who didn't know that Hermione hated flying, bid them adieu with his usual brisk grin.

"Harry, what do I do?" she hissed at Harry as soon as Kingsley was out of the room.

"You can do this. How about if I put a calming charm on you before we take off? By the time it wears off, we'll be almost there. You managed to fly on a terrified, blind dragon. This'll be way easier."

"A calming charm? I've seen a calming potion, but never a charm."

"Charlie Weasley actually taught it to me. They use them to help the apprentice dragon trainers. It seems to work just like the potion."

And it did. The calming charm wore off gradually, and by the time it was gone, Hermione had discovered that, while she didn't exactly enjoy flying, it was not all that bad. She held the map, and guided Harry to land in a cheerless, narrow street, lined on either side by stone houses, pressed together side by side, as far as the eye could see.

"What a dreary place," Hermione whispered, studying the map as Harry shrank his broom, and slipped his invisibility cloak over them both.

Snape's home was at the end of a nearby row of houses. The houses seemed to be deserted, and Hermione wondered if the whole town was this desolate or if Snape had somehow magically ensured that no one took any of the houses near his.

They reached his door and Hermione doubled checked the address, although the aura of magic surrounding his home was unmistakable. Hermione checked for any inhabitants with Homenum Revelio, then Harry performed the counter-spell to the simple ward on the door. One Alohomora and they were in.

They split up to each take a careful look through every room, as Kingsley had recommended. They were also to cover any portraits, but Hermione found none in the rooms she checked. In fact, there was little to find at all in the small house.

"Harry, someone's already been here," she said, discouraged. She'd been hoping that they could do something useful and a bit curious about what they might find.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Look at the bookshelves. There are hardly any books left, only elementary textbooks. But you can see the dust has been disturbed. These shelves used to be full."

Harry came over, perused the empty shelves and nodded glumly.

Hermione saw something on the floor. She picked up what turned out to be the leather spine cover off of the back of an old book. _"Potions to Charms, Charms to Potions: An Illustrated Guide,"_ it read.

"I knew he'd have interesting books. I wonder who took them all."

"They could be in his office at Hogwarts," Harry said hopefully, but Hermione had a feeling that they weren't. She looked up with a start, still frowning.

"Harry?" she whispered. "I feel like someone's watching us." Normally, Hermione hated relying on nothing more than vague feelings and intuition, but she couldn't ignore the chill that slipped down her back.

"Here? There are no windows." He had also dropped his voice, and instinctively moved closer to Hermione.

Hermione cast another Hominem Revelio. Nothing. She looked carefully around. The room was almost bare enough to be a monk's cell. No artwork. No portraits. An empty space above the fireplace where the wallpaper had faded around – something that was no longer there.

But propped up on the mantle –

"Hermione – there!" Harry moved to it first. There was a small aged hand mirror and, as Harry grabbed it and put it into their impervious bag, Hermione could've sworn she saw something move out of the silvered reflection.

Ron was waiting for them in the kitchen when they got back. "How was it?" he asked, trying to sound casual, although Hermione could hear the resentment in his voice.

"What a foul place," Hermione sighed. "No wonder he was such a grouch if he grew up there."

"That's no excuse," muttered Ron.

"There actually wasn't much there," Harry began. "It looked like . . . ."

The door opened and Shacklebolt led Professor McGonagall and Arthur Weasley in. "Harry, Hermione, we were hoping you were back. Giving Mr. Weasley your full report?"

"Well, um . . . we were going to tell you, but . . . ."

"It's fine," Shacklebolt gave them a tired smile. "You can fill me in later. For now, gentlemen, if you'll excuse us, we need a word with Miss Granger."

"Of course," she answered, then gave Harry and Ron a wide-eyed shrug. They looked just as perplexed as she was, but headed out. They knew that she'd fill them in later.

As she sat Arthur Weasley was the one who spoke. "You studied ancient runes, didn't you?"

"Three years," she said with a nod.

"And got an "O" on your O.W.L.s." Shacklebolt had obviously looked her scores up already so she just nodded.

"Do you need some translations done?" She almost smiled at the thought. She loved translating runes.

"We may." Shacklebolt exchanged such somber looks with Arthur and Minerva that Hermione pulled her chair in, and leaned forward. There was something more than just translations going on here.

"We have an interesting situation that has come up. Yes, we need your translation skills, but we also want you for this job because you've shown some diplomatic skill and a willingness to be open-minded. However, my one concern is whether you can be trusted to keep a matter of the deepest confidence from everyone, even other Order members, even your famous sidekicks." Kingsley looked intently at her face, as though he was trying to read her thoughts.

Hermione almost laughed that Harry could be referred to as her sidekick, but then she realized that she was being asked to keep something important from Harry and Ron. She sighed. If they needed her help, hopefully the boys would understand that she'd been asked to keep something in confidence.

"Professor, I think you can attest that I am fully capable of keeping secrets when necessary, even from Harry and Ron."

Professor McGonagall, obviously remembering Hermione's use of the time-turner in her 3rd year, nodded.

"We have an opportunity to receive intelligence from a new source, a source we understand is at the highest levels of the Death Eaters, but it will require absolute secrecy. Originally our contact wanted an Unbreakable Vow." Kingsley's deep voice had dropped now so that Hermione had to concentrate to hear him. "I'm sure you understand that the unpredictably of war makes such vows very dangerous. So – instead we have agreed to let our informant remain anonymous."

Hermione frowned. "Anonymous? You don't know who it is?" That seemed foolish to her. And how could this possibly concern her?

"Our prior method of communication proved unsafe." Mr. Weasley spoke in such a soft, sad voice that Hermione was tempted to reach out and take his hand. But she didn't. He went on. "Our new contact will send messages by ancient rune. We understand that the private Black family library has a portrait of a lady with several Grecian urns next to her. Have you seen it?"

"I think so. I've never really studied it though."

"The proposal is that messages will be inscribed, in runes, on one of the vases. You will then read them and translate."

"Wait - there's another portrait of the same lady? Is that how the runes are being inscribed? I thought we'd checked to make sure that there were no other portraits of any of these people in any place that was occupied?" Hermione had always been nervous about trusting the portraits of those who so clearly opposed their mission.

Kingsley had the decency to look a bit abashed at the potential security violation. "Well, yes, the other portrait was apparently being stored in an attic until recently. And, yes, we are going to do another review of our other portraits' other locations."

Shacklebolt looked at Arthur Weasley. He seemed to want to change the subject. "Hermione, Arthur will be going over your role with you."

Mr. Weasley looked over the table at Hermione. Not for the first time, she felt a rush of affection for the fatherly man. "Hermione, you'll be what's known as the 'handler' for this contact. I was the handler for our . . . previous contact. We can talk later and I'll explain the duties, and limitations, of being a handler. Our previous contact was someone I came to trust with my life. It was our previous contact who arranged for us to have a new contact."

"So . . . our previous contact," Hermione had noticed that he was very carefully gender neutral about his contact, "this contact passed on their role to someone new?"

"Basically."

"Why?"

"Our previous contact realized that they had been . . . compromised."

"They got caught?"

"Yes. But before our contact was apprehended, these new arrangements were made."

Hermione hesitated before she asked the next question. Mr. Weasley's demeanor pointed to only one answer. But she had to know.

"What happened to the previous contact?"

Mr. Weasley spoke to his hands, which were clasped tightly on the table in front of him.

"We believe that our previous contact was . . ." he paused and seemed to be gathering himself, "killed."

Shacklebolt stood. He seemed eager to shake off Mr. Weasley's ominous tone. "I'd like to introduce you, but I think it will have to wait until morning."

Hermione was puzzled for a moment, then it clicked. "Introduce me? Oh, you mean to the portrait?"

"Her name was Hyacinth Black."

Of course. A Black. "What should I call her? Hyacinth? Miss Black?"

"Let's start with Miss Black for now. Most of the portraits prefer formality. And that includes sticking to what they feel are respectable hours."

Hermione was dimly aware that the portraits all nodded off at some point in the evening. Ron and Harry were often scolded for playing wizard's chess in the parlour too late.

Hermione thought of how unpleasant some of the portraits could be. Not only was Walburga Black hysterically angry, but other portrait denizens liked to mutter insults. When she was feeling testy, she'd silence them as soon as she walked into a room. "Will . . . Hyacinth cooperate? Will she mind working with . . . someone of my . . . heritage?"

The two gentlemen looked at Professor McGonagall. "I've done some research into her background, her history, and it seems that she might be amenable. She herself was a half blood."

"And she was a Black?" Of course, seeing that Tom Riddle was a half blood that didn't necessarily mean she wasn't biased.

"Our contact also thinks she might be willing. In fact, our contact wants us, well – you, to explain the plan and see if she's willing to cooperate."

Hermione frowned. "I'm supposed to convince her to help us? And . . . I don't mean any disrespect, but . . . how can we possibly trust a Death Eater when we have no idea who it is. What if this is a ploy to trick us, to get information from us, to get us to . . . ." Her imagination began to spin out of control.

"Hermione." Mr. Weasley's voice was steady and low. "Any information we get from their side, from the inside is valuable. It might be false – either because we are lied to or because our contact is deceived. But it might be true. As a handler you'll bring the information back to us, one of the three of us here and, together, we'll decide what, if anything to do with it."

"For now the question, Ms. Granger, is whether or not you're willing to take this on, whether or not you will take on the new role of handler for our anonymous contact."

Hermione could feel her heart pounding. She'd been a bit bored lately, but this was so much responsibility. And in an area that she was completely unfamiliar with. Knowing how to translate runes was only going to be the starting point.

But – of course – someone needed to do the job. Someone who knew runes and was willing to deal with an anonymous Death Eater informant. Was that her?

"I'll do it."

**AN – I'd love to hear what you think of my AU. It makes sense to me that Voldemort would've noticed that, not only Harry wasn't dead, but also his wand wasn't working right. Since he was basically a coward, I can see him fleeing at that point – which could be highly inconvenient for the ambivalent Malfoys. Make sense to you?**


	5. Chapter 5 - Execution

**AN – Disclaimer – Just to refresh – I'm not Rowling, not making money on this, didn't invent the characters.**

**NOTE – Don't want to give too much away, but if you have issues with non-con you might have issues with this chapter. Still just a "T" rating though.**

5 – Execution

It was time.

Draco Malfoy entered the ring of Death Eaters, pulling behind him a hooded figure whose trembling could be seen despite the dark robe that covered her. With a quick shove he thrust her to the center of the circle. Her arms were bound behind her so she fell onto her still-concealed face with a stifled cry.

Draco strode in to stand behind her, clasping his own hands behind his back, head bowed in the traditional subservient pose. He made sure that his shoulders were firm, proud. He let the tension in his neck stay. The Dark Lord would see it as anger, which part of it was.

"My Lord." His voice rang loudly in the cavern, no hesitation, no doubt. Then he lowered his head again and stood waiting, eyes still open, staring at the rough rock floor in front of him.

"Good evening, Master Malfoy." The Dark Lord hissed out his name, drawing out the "s" in Master to emphasize the belittling term. The purebloods around him all knew the title of "Master" was reserved for boys, children under the age of twelve. Draco allowed himself to bristle, as though he cared about such games.

"You have brought a guest." Another hiss.

"No, my Lord. Not a guest, a traitor." The cowards around him shuddered at even this contradiction, but the Dark Lord nodded. He enjoyed Draco's strength, as long as it stayed within bounds.

"So, you have caught the spy." Draco nodded, but made no sound. The Dark Lord flicked his wand and her magical bonds were released. There was no danger that she could escape. "And you know who she is?"

Draco could feel the tension in the room. How many of them feared that it could be their wife, their daughter? How many of them were suddenly wondering if she'd been acting differently lately? Draco knew that the Dark Lord would draw out the fear as much as possible, but he couldn't wait for this night to be over. Except that he couldn't stand that thought either.

"Yes, my Lord. She is known to me."

Voldemort's eyes slid over Draco's face, looking for hesitation, fear. He was leering, hungry for the suffering that he expected to be ripping Draco apart. And then - as clearly as if had entered the Dark Lord's very mind – Draco knew that the Dark Lord had known his mother was the spy all along. Draco had been set up. For a moment his vision flashed black as rage surged through him but he forced it back, forced into a tight ball, to be saved, to be channelled, to be used later. He wondered if the Dark Lord had set his mother up also, somehow enticing her to become a spy. She'd never been punished for reporting that Potter was dead. However it had come to be, Draco knew the Dark Lord was ecstatic that he could use Draco as the instrument of her chastisement. His depravity was boundless.

These were thoughts for another time. Without moving Draco took a deep breath and decided it was show time.

As though the thought of asking for permission to act had never entered his mind, Draco stepped forward and yanked the hood back. Gasps greeted the sight of his mother's golden hair, pulled as usual into a flawless ponytail. One sound, more a squeak than the others, caught Draco's ear. Pansy. Why was she here? She wasn't a Death Eater. But of course., the Dark Lord had known who the spy was. All his other classmates were doubtless also in the circle - to witness Draco's pain.

Or his triumph.

Draco glanced to his left and found Pansy, standing in front of her father, her face visible under her hood. She seemed to be biting into her own fist. Restraining a scream? She was dangerous to him. No one here, besides his mother of course, knew him as well as she did. No one else knew how close he was to his mother. If anyone could see through his bravado, his act, it would be Pansy and that could doom them both.

He knew his father was in the crowd behind him also, most likely staring off into space only dimly aware of being surrounded by others. Tonight Draco envied him.

The Dark Lord's eyes were now scanning the gathered Death Eaters, looking for weakness, enjoying their fear. In many ways he was easy to fool. He knew basically nothing about Draco. He assumed all were either snivelling cowards, the minions, or cold-hearted maniacs like himself. Most of human emotion just didn't register at all with the Dark Lord. He never trusted anyone, and therefore forgot that they might trust each other. Actions moved by love, a sensation he'd never known, puzzled him.

"My Lord?" Aunt Bellatrix, on the Dark Lord's right, simpered.

"Yes?"

"May I?"

He nodded and she stepped forward.

Another danger. His mother had warned him that Bella would be eager – eager to prove her loyalty, prove she wasn't tainted by her relation to the traitor. But it wouldn't be hard for her. Bellatrix had long believed that Narcissa's loyalty was to her husband and son and her admiration for her older sister had twisted into revulsion.

"CRUCIO!"

Draco held himself rigid so that he would not flinch. He'd tried to get his mother to take a numbing potion but she'd refused. In a few moments he'd be able to take over, to replace the agony with their planned painless convulsions, but for now he couldn't appear too eager. He wished he could absorb her pain himself. He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes, but stared intently at a ridge on the rocky floor, disappearing into his own mind to hide from her screams. He knew Pansy's eyes were on him, everyone would be watching him, wondering how he could turn in his own mother, how he could listen to her screams.

He glanced up at the Dark Lord. He would tire of this soon; Bella's pleasure meant nothing to him. For Draco though it would be a test. Draco willed his face and shoulders to relax. He couldn't show his tension but his fingers dug so deeply into his own hand that they would've drawn blood if he hadn't been wearing leather gloves. He prayed that he could make it, could hold up to what he'd promised his mother he would do.

He went back to preparing for the mental invasion that was coming, soon. Once again, he pushed all of his thoughts, all of his emotions, everything in his mind, behind the barrier that his godfather had helped him build in his own mind. After he had hidden everything away, he carefully released a few controlled thoughts, thoughts of devotion to the Dark Lord and anger at his mother's treachery. He was ready.

"Enough." Draco looked up at the Dark Lord.

"Draco, the honour is yours." No legilimency yet then. He'd have to torture his mother first. Luckily, they already had a plan for that.

"My Lord."

"Silencio." His mother looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. The Dark Lord however gave him a questioning look, which he answered. "I find the pain is greater without the ability to release tension through screaming."

"Crucio."

Unlike Bellatrix he did not scream. His controlled demeanor had become his trademark, but enough of those gathered had felt the intensity of his calm crucio. Of course, the real reasons he had silenced his mother were that it was hard to fake a scream of real pain and even the effort eventually began to hurt the throat.

The concentration of the silent spell of "convulsio" distracted Draco at first, until his thoughts began to turn with dread to what next. Of course, she would die. But how? He couldn't kill her. She knew that. What had she planned?

Draco realized his face couldn't show fear. Even boredom wasn't enough so he forced a snarl. He allowed himself to picture Bellatrix trembling instead.

The Dark Lord let him continue much longer than Bellatrix had. Draco wished he could find his father among the robed. Could he possibly be unaware of what was happening tonight? Did he no longer recognize his wife and son? At home he usually knew them, although his mind was often in its own world, a happier past. If Draco had ever doubted his father's insanity though, the fact that the Dark Lord was ignoring him tonight was the final confirmation.

"Very good. I see you don't let family ties overly burden you."

"She is no family to me." The Dark Lord was so predictable. Now he would chose others to have turns – some like Parkinson to test their loyalty. Would he call on Pansy? Draco was not at all sure that she could do it. Some, like Dolohov, would be chosen for their unfailing ability to torture. But there was nothing Draco could do.

His mother lay shaking. He knew that she was gathering her remaining strength.

"And now, let's . . . ."

"Accio Wand!" Narcissa had jumped to her feet. A summoned wand flew from one of the unprepared Death Eaters into her hand. Draco stepped back from her wondering what . . . .

"Avada Kedavra!"

A green flash tore through the cave. Voldemort stood up and met the flash. For an instant Draco hoped –

But the green was met with a burst of light – the color of molten lead. It reflected back to its origin, back to his mother. He saw the green sink into her, the light leave her face. She crumbled and fell on her back, her mouth open, her eyes wide and glazed.

Draco's mask collapsed. His heart ripped. He knew she was gone and if any there had looked at him in that moment they would have known he was broken, known how much he loved her. But for the moment not one eye was on him. The sight of Narcissa, lifeless, was too hypnotizing.

Then the Dark Lord laughed, a harsh and feral sound. Draco reached deep down into his soul and used everything he had to pull himself back together. His impassive mask was such a habit that his face slipped back into it. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing all emotion to leave them.

"I had wondered how to test my little experiment. Your dear mother solved that problem for me. Too bad she can't appreciate my gratitude." Draco couldn't recall ever seeing the Dark Lord indulge in so much glee. He had to swallow once more to force down his bile.

The Dark Lord's thin smile slipped away and he pressed his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. Despite his words, he was obviously contemplating whether Draco should be punished for his mother's transgression.

Draco looked him straight in the eyes. Now he wasn't afraid. There was nothing more that the Dark Lord could do to him. He willed his mind to be blank again, only his chosen thoughts available.

This time the invasion came. He waited, motionless, as the Dark Lord probed him. He released memories of last night's planned capture of his mother, including a scene of berating her which they had staged just for this purpose. The Dark Lord reveled in his thoughts.

Finally, the Dark Lord withdrew.

"You have done well. As usual, you surpass all of my expectations. Even your mother's insane attempt to harm me served its purpose." The Dark Lord paused and scanned all of those gathered, most likely enjoying their envy as he praised someone else. Then his eyes returned to Draco. "Name your reward."

He had already had a plan for this offer, hoping it would come. But now – he needed something else.

"My Lord, I have two requests." He heard a shocked gasp from one of the minions behind him. They were all so gutless. That was probably why the Dark Lord enjoyed Draco's audaciousness. It was a bit of variety.

"Indeed," was the only reply. Of course, he wouldn't agree to anything until he knew what the requests were.

"I don't know if you were aware, my Lord, but my mother always hated the ocean. A bad experience in the cold waves when she was young, I believe."

The Dark Lord looked to Bellatrix, who nodded, intrigued by Draco's words.

"I was thinking that a burial at sea would ensure that she doesn't rest in peace."

The Dark Lord's mouth widened in a smirk. "Vicious," he crooned appreciatively.

Draco acknowledged the compliment with a nod. "As for my other request," he turned slightly towards the Death Eaters still standing behind him and found Pansy, who was now leaning back into her father, "I want her in my chambers."

Her eyes bulged in panic and he knew that she was, for the first time, afraid of him. Exactly what he needed. Her father reflexively moved his arm around her, then realized that this move could be seen as defiance. The arm dropped down to his side.

"Of course." The Dark Lord was feeding on her fear. "But first, Bellatrix, Dolohov, you will accompany Malfoy as he disposes of . . . the rubbish." Draco heard Dolohov approach. "Rowle – you will escort Ms. Parkinson." The thought flashed through Draco's mind that he didn't want that thug anywhere near her. Then he remembered that they were no longer to be friends. He couldn't be concerned for her. And he needed to concentrate on what he had planned for his mother's body.

It wasn't long before Draco, Bellatrix and Dolohov were flying over the North Sea. They had apparated to the North Yorkshire shore and now were flying almost due North, Narcissa's enshrouded body hanging beneath Draco's broom. It was almost time to drop her. He could only hope that the galleon he had asked her to hold in her hand was still clutched there. He hadn't had time to explain it to her, but she had complied, unquestioning. He wasn't entirely sure that his plan would work. It all depended on whether a portkey would work on a dead body. He was pretty sure that it would. He'd heard stories of people being portkeyed to St. Mungo's, but arriving already dead. He'd find out soon enough.

The night's many stresses were beginning to wear on him. A faint pounding was beginning at the top of his neck and he knew it would only grow worse. Time to get this part over with.

"This look good to you?" he asked his Aunt Bella. He knew she and Dolohov had been sent to keep an eye on him. The Dark Lord probably didn't suspect anything; he just always had them watching each other.

"It looks frigid. Perfect." Bellatrix never failed to be a heartless bitch.

"Bon voyage," he said tonelessly, and with a quick Diffindo, he cut her body loose. He counted to himself, one second, two seconds, three seconds, four, then muttered a switching spell which switched the galleon in her hand with the portkey he had stashed in his pocket. Once the switch was complete, he whispered "_Portus_." He fought his instincts and didn't look down to see if her body had disappeared. By now it could hardly be seen anyway, and he couldn't chance alerting either of the others. He'd find out if it had worked later.

By the time he landed at Malfoy Manor, his escorts already gone, he was so chilled that he stumbled as he dismounted onto stiff legs. His head was pounding. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, be still, make the pain go away. Not yet. He hurried inside, and luckily didn't encounter his father as he went directly to his own rooms. He couldn't bear to see his father staggering through the house, not really knowing where he was or where he was going. Not on this night.

Now to deal with Pansy. On the way back he'd decided to make it quick, brutal and ugly. He wasn't sure that he could hold it together if she questioned him at all.

He threw open the door to his room, wand already drawn, and silenced her even as she looked up at him from the arm chair she was curled up in. He made sure that she saw a look of hatred on his face, then stupefied her. He levitated her into the guest room next to his room. He didn't want to have to see her later. He dropped her body onto the bed.

Then he went to work. What he should do was beat her bloody, but he was too soft-hearted for that. She'd hate him anyway, but she'd long been his closest friend, the only one he ever confided in, even though it had been more than a year now since they'd talked. Instead, he used pigmenting spells, painting a vivid bruise across her face, bands around her wrists.

Draco took a deep breath and braced himself. He didn't want to do this, but it had to be done. He used a slicing spell to tear off Pansy's robes, then her underclothes. He tried not to look at her now bare body any more than he had to as he painted a large bruise on her stomach, then smaller ones on her thighs. He considered slicing his hand, using his own blood to add some gore, but his stomach lurched at the thought. It was enough. She wouldn't notice the lack of blood.

When he was done, he muttered an "enervate." As soon as she was conscious, as soon as her eyes met his, he glared at her as he pointed his wand: "obliviate," then, once again, "stupefy." When she woke, she'd know she'd been obliviated. She'd assume the worst. She'd probably never talk to him again, which would be safer for both of them. She'd be one more person lost to him forever. He'd known for a while now that he would never love her, not romantically. Maybe someday he'd be able to explain.

He went to his potions cabinet and selected a jar of simple cleaning lotion and then transfigured the label to now read "Murlap Essense Ointment."

"Nappy." He summoned his most loyal house elf. Nappy had been with him longer than he could remember.

Nappy appeared and took a step back as she took in Pansy's condition. She turned to Draco and asked "Master?" then flinched away from him as Draco approached.

"Nappy, I . . . ." Draco stopped, his voice about to break. If he fell apart now . . . he closed his eyes and took a few moments to pull himself back together. When he opened them the trepidation was gone from Nappy's eyes, replaced by her usual concern. "This isn't what it looks like. I swear."

"Nappy knows Master is a good boy. Nappy knows Master and Miss Parkinson are playmates." Nappy was so eager to believe him. He felt a gratitude for the elf sweep through him. She might be the only being alive who still thought he was good.

"Nappy, when she wakes take care of her, good care. But she can't know that it wasn't real. She has to hate me. It's for her safety. Tell her she should go live with her mother, get out of the country, stay far away from here."

Nappy nodded, although she gave him a puzzled frown.

"One other thing, when she awakes give her this." He handed the changed jar to the elf. "Make sure she has a mirror." Draco knew that Nappy would carefully follow his instructions no matter how strange they were. He was counting on Pansy's vanity to be so disturbed by the bruises that she would heal them as quickly as possible without noticing that they didn't actually hurt like real bruises.

He had one more place he needed to go now. This night felt as though it would never end. The pounding in his head was almost overwhelming.

He stalked off through the manor's gardens, until he reached the fenced enclosure near the edge of their property. He'd already performed the blood illusion that blocked the view of one corner of the family cemetery from anyone without Malfoy blood. He paused before he pushed open the gate. Would her body be there? Would it be broken from the fall?

He saw the white of her shroud peeking from behind one of the tombstones. She was here. Her body had fallen remarkably close to the empty plot where he'd planned to bury her. The shroud had come unwrapped, slipping off to leave her face partially exposed. He reached over to move it aside, to look at her one last time. She seemed undamaged, almost peaceful, always beautiful. He vanished the rest of the shroud, then took a moment to cross her arms across her chest. He had to do this quickly or he might not be able to do it at all. With a flick of his wand he entombed her, and buried her casket. He gathered his breath, then repaired the disturbed ground so that it no longer looked like a fresh grave. He couldn't leave a marker, not yet, but he summoned a flower from the garden and planted it.

He was about to go, when he glanced at the ground and was suddenly very aware that his mother lay beneath it. His mother, whom he would never see again, whose voice he would never hear again, whose arms he would never . . . .

His legs gave out and before he knew it he was grasping the newly planted grass on her grave. Tearless sobs racked his body. His hands cramped, his throat burned, but he could only wish it hurt more. He wanted the physical pain to match the agony in his soul. He clenched his eyes shut, seeing only darkness. In the moonless night, he let the blackness consume him, and cried into the ground as he said goodbye to the last goodness in his life.


	6. Chapter 6 - Ne touchez Pas

6 – Ne Touchéz Pas

Hermione took a final look at herself in the mirror, pulling on the back of her blouse to keep it from bunching up under her cardigan. If only her one summer suit hadn't been so wrinkled. She didn't have time to look up that spell for pressing clothes and . . . .

It didn't matter. She was just meeting a portrait – a woman who'd been wearing the same dress for probably more than fifty years. Her school girl insecurities came back so easily. Why did these blue blood bigots made her feel so inferior? She frowned at her own reflection. Hyacinth was a half blood. Would she still be a snob?

She threw her head back, straightened her shoulders. She'd survived battle with Death Eaters. She could do this. She might be a mudblood, but she'd been raised with good enough manners, knew how to introduce herself to her parents' friends, could converse politely with their business associates. She looked at the clock on the mantle in her room – almost ten o'clock. Apparently, ten in the morning was a respectable time for a social call.

The others were waiting for her in the hall. Shacklebolt led, walking quietly, not wanting to wake Mrs. Black. After they were all in the sitting room, Kingsley cast a silencing charm behind them, as well as another charm Hermione didn't recognize. A mass of grey smoke emerged from his wand, and formed itself into a wall of sorts. It must have been an obscuring charm.

She looked over to the tapestry and was surprised to see that, once again, it looked like just a tapestry. No door was visible, even though it'd been there every time she'd come into the sitting room since it first appeared.

"The door's gone." She blushed when she realized how obvious that was.

"Hmm. How did you get it to appear before?" Professor McGonagall moved her wand over the tapestry. It glowed blue, showing it to be a powerfully magic item. The unicorn gave her an offended glare, but the dragon reared up, waving its wings and shot a small blast of flame toward her. McGonagall jumped back and might have lost her balance if Shacklebolt hadn't reached out to steady her. "Oh. Oh, dear."

"Hermione?" Shacklebolt reminded her of the question that had been asked.

"I just . . . ." she tried to remember back. "I just finished a quote when the unicorn started it."

"May I ask . . . what kind of a quote was it?" Shacklebolt was rubbing his chin, considering the two animals which were now both glowering at them.

"It was Shakespeare . . . a Muggle author." Hermione hadn't even thought about that before, but what a strange thing for an enchanted item in the Black house to know. "Me, poor man, my library was dukedome large enough." The three adults exchanged puzzled glances; apparently the quote wasn't widely known in the wizarding world.

"Let's try something." Kingsley was the first to speak. "If we all leave, and Hermione comes back in, alone, then maybe the door will be there again."

"Or you might get another chance to complete a quote," said McGonagall, nodding.

"Looks like you might be on your own here, not that you haven't gone into more dangerous places than this without adult supervision." Mr. Weasley seemed to know she was nervous. She appreciated his words, even if she wished someone could come with her. How silly – it was just the library, what she'd come to think of as her library. Of course, that was part of the problem – it wasn't really her library at all.

Sure enough, after they'd all gone through the smoke back into the hall, and Hermione re-entered, glad the smoke was staying in place, the door was there, just as it had been before. She crossed to it quickly, walking confidently, not allowing herself to over think this.

The torches along the walls of the library lit themselves, as usual, as soon as she entered. She paused for a moment to enjoy the leathery scent of the room. The portrait of Hyacinth was just to the left of the one window in the room. Hyacinth was gazing off into space, occasionally shifting to check her nails.

Hermione approached, then hesitated as she noticed that Hyacinth was wearing beautiful navy silk witch's robes. Of course. How could she have forgotten and dressed Muggle? Nice Muggle, but still. This summer she'd kept her school robes packed away and it'd been so warm she'd mostly been wearing jeans and t-shirts. Had she forgotten she was a witch? Should she run up to her room and change?

No. It was time to do this.

She cleared her throat. "Excuse me? Miss Black?"

Hyacinth looked up at her with a start. Her face looked open and puzzled, but then she pulled her expression back into a blank and haughty one.

"Have we been introduced?"

"I'm afraid not. As I appear to be the only one the library will allow in at the moment, I'll have to introduce myself. I am Hermione Granger – at your service." Hermione gave a quick almost curtsy bob, then immediately felt like that was silly.

"Oh," replied the portrait. All was silent for a moment and Hermione began to wonder what, if anything, she should say next. "Miss Hyacinth Brocklehurst Black." Hermione wondered if she had purposefully omitted saying 'at your service.' "Granger did you say? I don't believe that I'm familiar with any Grangers."

Of course not. "No, I don't expect that you would be. I grew up in Hampshire."

Miss Black's eyes grew wide. They both knew that wasn't a wizard town.

"You're muggleborn then?"

"Yes." Hermione kept her answer short. She wanted to see what Hyacinth would do with that. The silence stretched on. Hermione decided to wait her out. Sooner or later the silence would make her uncomfortable.

But she didn't want to stare at Hyacinth. She wanted to appear patient, not rude. Her eyes wandered to the large vase next to the chair in the painting. It was dark brown, almost black. The carving revealed golden orange clay beneath the darker finish. There were rows of figures – soldiers, animals, alternating with rows of neat Greek letters. The runes would blend right in, visible only to a discerning eye.

Hermione frowned, trying to remember the Greek alphabet, wondering what message was already inscribed on the vase. It was so realistically painted. She stepped closer to see if she could decipher any of the Greek words.

"Ne touchéz pas!" scolded Hyacinth. Hermione jumped. She'd almost forgotten about the lady in the portrait; she'd been so entranced by the vase.

"Excusez-moi. Je cherchais a votre beau vase."

"You speak French?" Hyacinth sounded surprised. Why couldn't a muggleborn know a different language? But Hermione kept her tone carefully neutral.

"Yes. My mother loved to travel in France. We spent several summers there."

Hyacinth apparently had no problem with staring. She studied Hermione openly, so Hermione met her gaze.

"Are you living here now? Here at Grimmauld Place?"

"Yes."

Miss Black raised her eyebrows, asking for more. "You are a guest of the Blacks?" Hyacinth sounded as though that was unlikely, and she was probably right.

Hermione decided it was time to explain things. "I don't know how much you've followed . . . current events. At the moment there are very few Blacks left. As far as I know, none with the surname 'Black,' since . . . well, since the last heir passed. His name was Sirius and he left the house to my friend, Harry Potter." Hyacinth's eyes opened wider at Harry's name. She wasn't completely unaware of the world. That would make things easier. "At the moment there's a . . . a war going on. Harry, myself and several others are living here for now."

"I thought the house seemed busy of late. Is that why I hear such horrible shrieking from Mrs. Black? Walburga, that is, in the hall."

"Actually, yes. She's not very happy with having us here."

"I imagine not." For the first time Hyacinth smiled. Hermione was amazed at how much prettier it made her. "Anything that displeases Mrs. Black can only be a good thing in my book. Now, what can I do for you?"

Hermione knew her relief showed on her face. As she explained to Miss Black the proposal to pass messages using her vase, Hyacinth nodded.

"Of course, my dear. I'm happy to help. Honestly, it isn't even my vase, only a prop the painter brought to make me look more classic. What do you think? Did it work?" Miss Black struck a formal pose.

Hermione smiled. "The effect is charming."

When she left, a half hour later, she was feeling much more positive about this whole scheme. All that remained was for the contact to speak to Hyacinth in her other portrait. Hyacinth agreed to spend more time there to make the connection easier.

Hermione had only been back in her room for a few minutes, when there was a call to respond to an attack in Surrey. She and Harry met in the kitchen and were dispatched on their next mission.

"How is it possible that this place has been locked up for more than a year?" Hermione gazed around the crowded room, amazed at all of the strange items in it. Something was screeching and it hurt her ears. She surveyed the room, anxious to silence it.

"No idea," answered Harry, who didn't even seem to hear the noise. He stepped toward an old mirror. It seemed to show his reflection, but something about it was off. Distracted from whatever was shrieking for a moment, Hermione's eyes scanned back and forth between Harry and his reflection. Somehow the Harry in the mirror looked better – taller? braver? - than in real life.

She gave her head a little shake. It wouldn't do to spend too much time worrying about any of the magical items here. The small living room was full of interesting looking objects and she had a feeling the other rooms were too. The first thing she needed to do was stop that horrible noise before she got a headache.

Hermione and Harry had gotten past all of the wards and were standing in Mad-eye Moody's house at last. It wasn't any bigger than Professor Snape's house, although it was in a nicer neighborhood – Philby Lane in the quiet village of Appleby, so normal that it was hard to picture Mad-eye here. The house was red brick, with a steep tiled roof, and a pathetically patchy lawn. Kingsley had given them a list of the wards he knew protected the house, and Hermione had detected, and disarmed, two others before they could finally enter.

"Harry, I think we can expect more wards on his most valuable possessions. Check everything before you touch it."

"What about invisible and hidden things? How will we know when we've gotten everything?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Remind me to do a magic-detection sweep of each room. That should show us where anything else is hidden."

"Is this a foe glass?" Harry wondered, looking again at the mirror.

"It wouldn't show you if it was. You were never a foe of Mad-eye's."

"But since he's . . . gone, would it still show his foes or someone else's?"

"I think it'd still be his, unless it's been . . . well, reset somehow. But everyone who appeared in the foe glass looked creepy. Your reflection doesn't look scary at all." She wondered if Harry saw himself in the mirror the same way she saw him.

The noise was definitely coming from the middle of the room. She walked past the mirror and over to a small table which had two spinning, shrieking objects on it. Sneakoscopes. She cast a silencing spell on them and let out a relieved breath when it actually worked.

"Wow – your reflection is actually kind of glowing," Harry pointed out, still entranced by the mirror.

"Yeah. I think we better just pack it up. We can study things more thoroughly once we've gotten them back to headquarters."

"Sure. Hey – did you check for portraits yet?"

"There aren't any in here. I bet he didn't trust them."

Luckily, they had come early in the day. It was going to take a full day to catalogue all the various magical items in this small house. Most of them would be left in place to be moved later. Only those things which seemed dangerous or immediately useful were to be packed up for them to take back to Grimmauld Place. They worked together on each room. There were only 5 rooms – the living room, Moody's bedroom, a guest room, bathroom and a kitchen.

The kitchen, like Snape's, seemed to be more potions laboratory than kitchen. Hermione checked for wards, and frowned as the far wall of the kitchen glowed with a bright green. She opened the first cabinet she came to. The bottom shelf contained an impressive array of teas, each in its own labeled tin: Assam, Darjeeling, Earl Grey, . . . . Alphabetized. Hermione smiled. Then there was a row of small lead jars, also labeled. She picked one at random to read its tiny label – then abruptly put it back.

"Oh my gosh!"

"What?" asked Harry, who was studying a strange contraption that covered the kitchen counter on the other side of the room.

"He had basilisk venom. Right next to his tea." Hermione's voice had dropped in horror.

"Take it. It's dead useful."

She reached up to the jar again, shook it, then carefully removed the stopper, and peered inside.

"Oh – it's empty."

"Figures. Doesn't this look like a still? You think Mad-eye was making moonshine?"

She glanced over, laughing. "Yeah. Maybe." She smiled. "Trust him to be full of surprises." She examined the other lead jars, picked up another and shook it, then another. "He did have some Acromantula venom and some Manticore venom. Should we pack these up?"

"Yeah. Hate to poison someone who just wanted a spot of tea."

"I'm starting to think that his eye wasn't the only thing mad about him, but at least he was organized. That should help with keeping track of everything. Oh, look – a whole jar of bezoars!"

"Take those." Harry spoke while getting down on his knees to look through the lower cabinets.

Hermione called out the items in each cabinet, while her charmed quill made a list of all of them for her. Harry did the same to the lower cabinets, marveling that Hermione had managed to charm his quill to listen only to his voice so that they could both work without interfering with each other.

"Harry, come here. There's a strong magical presence here – on this wall. Any ideas how to get to whatever's hidden here?"

"You already tried 'revelio'?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm." Harry ran his hand over the bare kitchen wall, then shivered. "Hang on – I can feel something. Wow – that's powerful. No idea how to get it to reveal itself though." He stood with her for a few moments, then said "I'm going to get started on the spare room. You come when you're ready."

Hermione didn't move. She didn't acknowledge what he said at all, but he went anyway. He was used to her intense concentration.

But a few moments later he called "Hermione – you have to come see this."

She started. It took her a moment to put his words together after they reached through her fog. Then she went. She peered into the guest room and her eyes widened. It was a library! There were books everywhere – stuffed in bookshelves on every wall, and piled like termite mounds throughout the room.

She started with the bookshelf directly to the left of the door – best to be systematic. "Harry," she whispered, feeling as though she were in an ancient cathedral, "don't move anything. Look – they're organized, too." She pointed at the labels on the shelves in scrawled black letters: Blood Magic, Marks and Tattoos, Ministry History, Pureblood Traditions, Wards. She could spend weeks, months, in here. She stepped over to the Pureblood Tradition section - 'A Comprehensive History of the Pureblood Families of England,' 'Land Tales: a Look at the Great Properties of Witching Britain,' 'Blood Not So Pure: the Biggest Secrets of the Oldest Families.'" She grinned, pulling that last one from its shelf and skimmed through the Table of Contents. Hyacinth's story might be in here. Sure enough there was a chapter on the Black family, another on the Malfoys.

"This whole stack is on Concealment Spells!" Harry wasn't normally as excited by books as Hermione was, but his eyes were bright. He began to read off some titles: 'They'll Never Find It: Hiding Things That Need to Stay Hidden,' 'Beyond the Fidelius Charm.' Maybe these can help us with whatever's hidden in the kitchen."

Hermione scanned around the room and noticed that even the stacks on the floor were labeled. Reluctantly, she put back the book she'd been skimming.

"Harry – this room is a treasure, but if we start looking through the books we'll never get through." She waved her wand, looking for more wards or spells on the books. Several sections of the shelves gave off the tell-tale eerie green glow. "The quickest way to deal with this is to divide up the room. You take that side, and all of the stacks from the middle of the room over. Then we'll go through and look at each title in our section. When we get back we can save those memories in a Pensieve and we'll have a full catalogue. If you see anything you think we should take back today, just mark it with a 'flagrate.'" She started to slowly read each title. "Oh, and Harry – if you see me getting distracted, make me move on." He grinned and they got to work.

They got through the library reasonably quickly. Harry only had to remind Hermione to keep moving a few times, and she only had to remind him once. Hermione thought they'd be able to get the whole house done and still be on time to the Order meeting that evening – until they stepped into the last room – Mad-eye's bedroom. Snape's had been little more than a monk's cell – with a bed and dresser, nothing more. But Mad-eye's was as stuffed with interesting gadgets as the rest of the house had been. Hermione sighed. If they worked quickly, and skipped dinner, maybe they could make it.

"Hermione," Harry moaned. "Maybe we should just come back tomorrow."

"We can't tomorrow. We're supposed to practice duelling, and Shacklebolt is coming by in the afternoon to see how well our training is going. Then I promised McGonagall I'd work on some tutoring schedules for the returning Hogwarts' students. It'll be days before we can get back. Let's see how much we can get done in the next hour."

Harry shrugged and they got to back to work.

Hermione was cataloguing the items on the tallest dresser. So far she recognized an astrolabe, an abacus and a slide rule. Why would Moody be interested in maths?

"Hermione?" Harry's voice had a slightly-panicked edge to it.

She looked over. He was kneeling on the far side on Moody's bed, facing away from her. "You okay?" she asked.

"Um . . . not exactly."

She slipped the list she was making into her pocket. She didn't trust this house enough to just set it on the table. For all she knew, one of these knick-knacks might eat it. When she got closer she saw that Harry was gripping the drawer pull on Moody's night stand.

"Won't it open?"

She reached toward it to add her strength, but Harry shouted "NO!" and pushed her roughly away with his free hand. "Don't touch it!"

"Why? What . . . ."

"My hand – it's stuck! And it's starting to burn. Ouch!"

So – they didn't finish the room and they were late to the meeting. They tried to sneak in, but every eye in the room followed them as they slipped into the kitchen, grabbing the only empty chairs, which couldn't be near the door, but were way down by the end of the table. One was next to Neville, where Harry sat. Hermione set a small bowl of pickled murtlap down next to him, before hurrying to sit next to Fleur, whose pregnancy was just starting to show.

She pulled out a parchment and her quill and started to take notes, mostly to help her frazzled mind focus. They'd been in such a rush at Moody's that they'd forgotten to check the last room for extra wards. After trying everything they could think of to free Harry's hand, and with the heat of the handle steadily increasing, Hermione finally used the severing spell that George had used on her hand. Harry had insisted that she do it, but she still felt ill at his scream, then at the blood that had been all over. She'd numbed his hand as quickly as she could, then healed it, but the skin was both torn and burned, and even after being healed it was red and swollen. So she'd insisted that they duck into the cellar to grab the murtlap.

She watched as Harry held his hand in the bowl, his relief obvious in his face. Shacklebolt gave an exasperated shake of his head, then returned to explaining the various options for what to do with Hogwarts, now that what should have been the start of the new school year was almost upon them.

The first time this subject came up Hermione had wanted to reopen the school as usual this term. However, it was just too dangerous. At the moment, they held the school, with many of its security wards back in place, but without Dumbledore, Moody, or Snape, they couldn't reconstruct all of the previous enchantments. A school full of children would be a tempting target, particularly since they would be largely half-bloods and muggleborns. Most of the old pureblood families had already engaged tutors. Then several parents had written to say they'd allow their children to attend only if all Slytherins were barred. All in all, reopening the school as usual was simply not worth the risk.

What to do with it then? They had to keep some sort of armed presence there, including alarms to summon help if the Death Eaters attacked again.

Now they were discussing how to allow the few students who had no other options to return to a modified teaching/tutoring system. Harry was adamant that they had to find a way to make it safe for those children, who were mainly muggleborns, but included at least a few war orphans. Hermione was eager to help with their educations in any way she could, and Ron backed them both up.

By the end of the meeting, Hermione, despite being completely knackered from their busy and too eventful day, was enjoying the feeling of the three of them working as a team again, even if it was only in the rowdy discussion that erupting during the meeting.

Finally, Shacklebolt declared that they'd settled enough for the night and they all began filing out of the room. Shacklebolt and Mr. Weasley paused to ask Harry how their mission had gone. Ron and Hermione lingered nearby as Harry explained why his hand was still soaking in the murtlap. Ron seemed impressed by Harry's new injury.

"Sir," Hermione asked. "Harry and I were wondering . . . well, there's so much there, so much that could possibly be helpful. How is it that no one's been there until now? It's been a year now since . . . well, since we lost Professor Moody."

"We just found the place. We'd actually given up," Kingsley said.

"Dumbledore had been Moody's secret keeper," Mr. Weasley explained. "Moody wasn't much for having guests. Dumbledore's passing meant that everyone who knew the location was now a secret keeper, but we couldn't find anyone who'd ever been there."

"Then, just a couple of weeks ago, I was talking to Arabella Figg." Kingsley smiled affectionately at the mention of the sweet squib lady. "We've finally convinced her to move to a safer location and I was helping her get moved in." Hermione noticed that he didn't mention where she was. He hardly ever volunteered information if it wasn't somehow necessary, although sometimes, like now, he'd answer questions. "Anyway, she mentioned how fond Moody had been of her cats. It turned out that she'd visited his home. She gave me the address and we were in."

As they left, Harry and Ron started to go upstairs. Hermione hesitated. "You go on up. I've got something I have to do."

Harry nodded, but Ron stopped. "What? Can't you do it later?"

"No. I don't think it'll take long. I'm not sure." Hermione looked up at Ron, who was scowling at her.

"What's with you lately? If you're not off with Harry on some secret mission, then you're off doing some other secret stuff."

"There's a war going on, if you haven't noticed."

"I noticed and I've noticed that you never have time for me." Ron's arms were folded across his chest. Harry was already gone up the stairs.

"I never have time for you? What about . . . ." Hermione didn't want to get into a fight, not right now, not here in the hall. "Ron, I'm sorry. This is important."

She turned and headed into the front sitting room. The truth was, she was dying to see if Hyacinth had talked to their contact. She hated to admit it, but that was much more exciting than hanging around with Ron.

She had to see if she'd gotten her first message.

French Translations: Ne touchéz pas – Don't touch that. Excusez-moi – Excuse me. Je cherchais a votre beau vase – I'm looking at your beautiful vase.

AN – I know exactly where I'm going with this story (perhaps to a ridiculous degree), but I'm trying to decide if Ron and Hermione should end it with a shout or a whimper. Any suggestions?


	7. Chapter 7 - Masks

**Disclaimer – FanFiction – not written by JKR – written by me. I did borrow JKR's wonderful characters and overall universe. What an amazing place to play.**

7 – Masks

Draco looked down from his broom on the lights of the little town of Highworth. He ought to turn around soon, but the cool night air was such a relief that he kept going. The summer night was stifling. Even with a cooling charm the air below felt heavy. He took a deep breath and let the crisp breeze clean his lungs. He glanced down again and wondered how far up he was. If he fell from this height would it kill him, or just permanently maim him?

He shook his head. No matter what he did his mind kept seeking an easy way to die. His mother had, of course, charmed him against suicide at his birth. Not that he wanted to kill himself – it was just that he couldn't see any way that he'd survive this nightmare of a life much longer. What he wanted to do was avoid the most degrading and agonizing death options. The Dark Lord excelled in those.

One of the many problems with being a Death Eater was that one was always either ascending in the Dark Lord's eyes or descending and the descent was usually fatal. Fading into the background and waiting the whole thing out wasn't an option.

Of course, agreeing to take his mother's place as a spy for the Order was not the best way to avoid trouble. But she'd asked and - under the circumstances - there was no way he could deny her anything. Being a spy upped his chances of an unusually painful death quite a bit. Dying in battle would be better – quicker and not done for anyone's entertainment. There were lots of raids and attacks lately. How hard would it be not to duck the next time he saw a . . . .

His armed burned. "Bloody hell," he muttered. He looked even though he already knew that he'd see the leering skull glowing green. He was being summoned. That was the warning – something that the Dark Lord had added after MacNair had arrived stark naked, with a dangerous cut on his throat as he had been in the middle of a shave. Draco had only two minutes before he'd feel the pull. It felt different from apparition, more like being pulled by the neck. It was always somewhat suffocating. He put his head back and tried to enjoy another minute of wind in his face.

Five minutes later Draco slid smoothly into the circle of Death Eaters, taking his new place to the left of the Dark Lord's heavy throne. His mask already in place, he pocketed his gloves. It was already difficult to breath in the warm cave.

He glanced around the assembled crowd – only full Death Eaters tonight. That was much more normal than the extras who'd been there on the night . . . better not to think of that night. There were four figures on the other side of the Dark Lord, bound, trembling and apparently silenced. That meant they must be here for real interrogations, not just entertainment and explained why the Death Eaters were all still wearing their masks. Draco studied the four and frowned. Two of them were pretty obviously Muggles. What information could they possibly have? Another was a tall, arrogant looking wizard that he vaguely recognized from the Ministry of Magic. The last seemed to be wearing wizarding robes, but they were so torn and dirty that it was hard to tell.

"Bellatrix?" Everyone had arrived. "Can you pick some assistants and warm our guests up?"

Aunt Bella smiled deliriously. "Dolohov. MacNair. Mulciber." As she picked each one, she pointed to their respective victims. She'd picked three vicious torturers. Draco steeled himself.

The Dark Lord waved his wand. "Finite Incantatem." The screaming began even before the first crucio hit. Draco tried to lose himself in his thoughts but, once again, he couldn't. His mother's death had changed everything. One of the many bad effects was that he no longer found relief in his memories. Where before he had been able to escape into thoughts of better times – sitting on the balcony of their Florence villa watching the lights, walking on the beach in Greece, even just listening to her tell him about the newest flowers in her favorite garden – now those visions were more painful than listening to the screaming.

"Enough!" The Dark Lord seemed impatient tonight. Thank God. "Dolohov. You may proceed with your questions for Mr. Croaker."

The tall wizard looked up from where he had been thrashing on the ground, terrified to be singled out. Dolohov was in charge of the "recruitment mission" at the Ministry of Magic, which was in the planning stages. Most of their raids were quick and spontaneous, but this was to be a major operation. Draco still hadn't decided how much to tell the Order. They'd jeopardize his cover if they were obviously prepared.

As usual, another crucio preceded the questions. Draco decided to distract himself with a bit of legilimency. Why were the Muggles here? He waited until the male Muggle glanced at him. It didn't take long. His eyes were darting wildly around – looking for an escape? As soon as he looked at Draco, Draco wandlessly and silently petrified him, then slipped into his mind.

Those about to be questioned were almost always thinking about the information that they most wanted to hide. It was hard not to. But this man's mind was more panicked than most. He seemed to have no idea why he was here. His thoughts tumbled over each other and seemed to alternate between trying to think of a way to save himself and his wife from this situation and trying to figure out who these monsters were. He was a thorough Muggle – shocked to his core to see magic performed.

Then there was a memory – he'd seen someone in a wizard's robe, a small witch – enter a plain looking house. He had seen someone like this before. The Muggle sorted through his own memories and saw someone, the same petite witch, now dressed as a Muggle, carrying two large bags of groceries from a vehicle. He remembered offering to help her. She turned and smiled as he took a bag and Draco made sure to keep his face impassive. He knew her – Hermione Granger. This Muggle knew her. Not well. It'd taken a while for him to pull up the memory, but that explained why they were here. The Dark Lord must be indulging Greyback's obsession, probably at Dolohov's request.

Draco withdrew and silently released the man. Poor fool. There was no way he or his wife would be leaving alive. The best they could hope for was a relatively quick death.

Draco's eyes fell on the lump of cloth that was the dishevelled wizard. Some nights, trashy wizards were tormented for being an embarrassment on wizard-kind, although as the numbers of wizards dwindled the Dark Lord grew more reluctant to waste magical blood. He'd be more likely to imperius him and put him to some use. The wizard was still as he waited, knowing his turn was coming and knowing, as the Muggle didn't, that there was no escape.

By now, Croaker was talking, blurting out as much as he could about who worked where and did what at the ministry, only pausing to repeat how happy he was to help the Dark Lord in any way. Dolohov grew impatient with his babbling and slapped his face. Bellatrix loved to mix physical attacks with spells and Dolohov seemed to be borrowing her technique.

The slap drew the attention of the wizard Draco was watching. He looked up and then his glance fell on Draco. In an instant, he was petrified and silenced. This time Draco felt resistance as he entered his mind, but it was weakened from the lingering pain of the crucios.

This one was hoping to bargain. His first thoughts were of what he would say to the Dark Lord, how much information he could offer. Draco found his name easily as he planned to introduce himself - 'Mundungus Fletcher, at your service my Lord.' Hmm, not someone he'd run into at any of his parents' parties.

A memory jumped up. Draco found himself, through Fletcher's eyes, looking up into a wand pointed right into his face. Harry Potter was questioning Fletcher. There was a muffled thump and Fletcher's head bounced down, then glanced over at a crazed house elf who'd just hit him with a heavy pan. Draco had to stifle a laugh. St. Potter's interrogation technique was certainly strange, and not at all gentle. This scummy looking wizard did seem to have some valuable information, along with an unsettled grudge against Potter. He'd sell him out in a second.

Not for the first time, Draco was grateful for the things his mother and godfather had taught him. It'd be a nightmare for the Order if this guy got to talking. Draco would make sure that not much was left in his mind when they got to him.

Draco didn't have time to listen to whatever Fletcher was saying about a locket. With a subtle flick of his wand and a silent spell he took that memory completely. The image became silver, then condensed into a thick stream, which disappeared into Draco's memory, leaving nothing behind. He grabbed memories in no particular order – anything that might be important – and noted a fair number of wizards he knew as he went. Fletcher was schmoozing with Borgin, laughing with Fred and George Weasely, kissing up to Umbridge. Draco was surprised that this mess of a man knew so many people, seemed to associate with a better class of wizards than Draco would have expected. Of course, Fletcher could apparently put on the charm.

Then Draco saw a meeting in a dark corner of Diagon Alley, a confrontation with Harry in Hogsmeade, Dumbledore whispering "Number 12 Grimmauld Place." That was followed by a clear image of the front door of a house that Draco remembered - the Blacks' town house. It was as bad as Draco had feared. This lying creep had apparently taken in a lot of people. He was a secret keeper for a location which was obviously an important one for the Order. It might even be their headquarters. If he hadn't been a secret keeper Draco's wouldn't have been able to hear the address or see the image even in his memory. How could the Order be letting him roam around with that knowledge loose in his head?

What an incompetent bunch of fools. They'd never be able to kill the Dark Lord. They couldn't even deal with a petty swindler. Worse than that, apparently Dumbledore had been their secret keeper. That meant that everyone who had known the location was now a secret keeper. How many others losers like this were out there?

One after another, Draco took his memories as quickly as he could, grabbing all of the images that Fletcher thought would be valuable to the Dark Lord. By the time Draco finished his head was pounding, now full of unexamined thoughts.

He pulled out and released Mundungus, who sat back a bit as the petrificalus was removed, then stared blankly at the cave wall. It was hard to believe that the filthy skeletal man on the ground was the same charmer he been watching. Draco scanned the others in the cave without moving his head. All eyes were now on the interrogation of the Muggles. He was glad Dolohov was doing it as he was one of the smartest and most observant of the Death Eaters, but his attention was fully absorbed in his work.

Draco looked at what was left of Fletcher. Did the Dark Lord know how much information he'd had? If so, he'd be irate when he found that his mind was now just mush.

It soon became apparent that the Muggles had been neighbors of Granger's parents, but that her parents had disappeared and these poor folks had no idea where they'd gone. This was the worst kind of interrogation, but the most effective. The Dark Lord let Aunt Bella torture the wife repeatedly while demanding that her husband answer if he wanted it to stop. It was clear that he would have told them anything he could, but he didn't have any information to offer.

"Draco." The Dark Lord called him. Draco was, for once, relieved to have his legilimency skills demanded. "See if there's anything there – anything this poor idiot doesn't know is useful." Draco petrified him out loud this time and slipped again into his mind.

"My Lord," Draco spoke after he'd perused both Muggles, "they didn't know the Grangers well. They disappeared about a year ago. The house has been empty since." The questioning wouldn't last much longer. He'd put a fading spell on the man's memory of how to breathe. He couldn't use the same thing on both of them or that would be too suspicious, so he used a thinning spell on one side of her throbbing heart. Just a little more stress and she'd collapse, dead in moments from a severe heart attack.

Just a few minutes later Draco felt the tearing sensation in his chest that he knew came with being the cause of a death. The husband died first, gasping for air, then he felt the pain again as her husband's death was the final strain for the wife. This time it burned a little less than usual, perhaps because he hadn't directly killed them. As always, he knew that it would fade over the next day or two, but never completely go away. He wondered if the others felt anything similar, not that he could ask. Aunt Bella merely acted disappointed when the Muggles didn't last long, but everyone else turned their attention to the last victim.

"And how did this pile of rags come to be our guest?" The Dark Lord looked to Dolohov, so he must've brought Fletcher in.

"Greyback smelled a wizard nearby just after we picked up those two."

"I imagine any of us could have smelled this one."

It soon became clear that none of them knew who this wizard was, or at least, who he had been. After listening to him scream in pain then babble uselessly, the Dark Lord had Draco check his mind to make sure they weren't missing anything. Draco poked around some more, wanting to be sure he hadn't missed anything, but the farther back he got in Fletcher's mind the more vicious his memories were. He'd been a violent thug, until age and infirmity drove him to deal more in stealth and less in brute force. Draco couldn't help but feel that the world would be a better place without this one.

That night Draco went to the summer cottage. It was time to leave his first message for the Order, if he could get the portrait to cooperate. The last time he had been there she had refused to talk to him, giving him one scathing look, then obstinately keeping her face turned away from him. Of course, that had been just a couple of days after his mother's death and Draco hadn't been up for trying too hard. Maybe by now someone from the Order had gotten through to her.

Just in case, he brought a peace offering. He knew that women of her era were familiar with messages sent through flowers. He'd consulted with Spinks, his father's favorite house elf, who remembered those days. When he found that the flower for "I'm sorry" was a purple Hyacinth he couldn't resist bringing her one.

He entered the upstairs office of the cottage and set a vase with a stalk of hyacinth on a small side table, then, after considering it's placement for a moment, levitated the table and vase over to Hyacinth's portrait. The movement caught her eye, but she quickly resumed her pose. Was it his imagination or did she seem less hostile than she had before?

He stood in front of her, unsure how to proceed. The problem was that there was no one here to introduce him. That was at least part of the reason she wouldn't talk to him before. He paced back and forth. He couldn't have a house elf introduce them. That would be . . . .

"Excuse me, Draco dear?"

He whipped around, startled by the voice behind him.

"Mother?" he whispered, as he found himself staring into her familiar blue eyes. She smiled back calmly, and he closed his eyes as he realized it wasn't her. Not really. It was her portrait, done quite a few years ago apparently. He'd been avoiding her portraits in the Manor, but this one had caught him unawares.

The first time he went to speak he found he had no voice at all.

"Draco, are you well? You seem a bit . . . peaked." Portraits could be so frustrating, just a mirage of the person. He swallowed a couple of times, decided his voice was probably back, and addressed her at last.

"Mother? I didn't know you had a portrait here."

"Yes, well, I've never liked this one, but we decided it would be best if Spinks put me back up, here in the cottage." She gave him a look that was clearly supposed to be meaningful.

He frowned, thinking, for a moment, then realized that his mother would have thought of everything, including setting up a way for him to be properly introduced to Hyacinth.

She nodded, wordlessly reading that he'd figured it out. "Would you like me to introduce you?"

"Yes, please."

"Good evening, Miss Black. How are you doing on this lovely night?" As always, his mother's manners were impeccable.

Hyacinth turned to face her. Apparently they were on good terms. "Good evening, Mrs. Malfoy. I'm quite well, thank you."

"There is someone here whom I'd like to introduce to you. I think you will find you have some substantial interests in common."

"Yes?" Draco carefully hid his sigh of relief. Hyacinth was being much more cooperative.

"Miss Hyacinth Black, allow me to introduce my son, Draco Malfoy." Draco bowed to Hyacinth, who nodded elegantly.

"Draco, this is Miss Hyacinth Black. It is my understanding that both of you have a recent interest in the passing of rune messages through portraits." Narcissa gave a congenial smile, as though she did this type of introduction every day.

Draco waited for Miss Black to speak, not wanting to offend her in any way. "I'm not completely certain whether I do or not." Of course, she couldn't let it be simple. "I've been approached about it, but honestly, I'm not certain whether this is the type of activity with which I should associate."

"Is there something about runes that you find particularly distasteful?" Draco kept his voice carefully neutral.

"No, of course not." His care didn't matter. She'd taken offense anyway. "I am not in the habit of sneaking and passing clandestine messages between strangers."

"Nor am I, under normal circumstances." If he had time he could get to know her, find out what her real concerns were. Unfortunately, he had messages he needed to deliver soon, if not tonight, then tomorrow. The attack on the Ministry could be called at any time. He took a deep breath. It was time to take a gamble. "Miss Black, I take it that you are well acquainted with my mother?"

"Yes. I've quite enjoyed her company since her portrait was moved here. The summer cottage has always been a bit lonely."

"I don't suppose you've discussed her murder with her yet." Her eyes widened. Her shock must've been genuine since it is quite difficult to fake going pale.

"Murder? My heavens. When? I didn't even know she was . . . ." She stopped, now horrified that she had almost spoken out loud about death - such a faux pas.

"Have you heard of the Dark Lord? He killed her. I had to watch. And if you report what I've said to the wrong people he'll kill me too. So, I'm doing what I can to stop his madness. Are you going to help me?"

Hyacinth was fanning herself. So much bluntness was almost more than she could bear. "I . . . well, of course, I could never . . . I didn't know . . . Pardon me. I need a moment to gather myself." The last part was spoken with such sincere embarrassment at her display of emotion, that Draco pitied her.

"Take your time, Miss Black. I'll be here when you're ready to resume our conversation."

He gave her a slight bow before withdrawing to sit at his desk, where he began to draft the message he needed to send. He included the notice of Fletcher's death, a scolding regarding what a disaster his interrogation could have been and a warning of a large upcoming attack. Translating into ancient runes helped keep it dispassionate, but he was seething over what utter fools they were. Their lack of care had been his mother's undoing. Now, for them, he'd taken quite the risk with Miss Black, trusting his mother's instincts about her.

He was so absorbed in his work that he must have missed the first time she cleared her throat.

"Um, hmmm, Mr. Malfoy?" There was an impatient edge to her voice that caused him to give his head a small shake to rid himself of his intense concentration. He looked up at her hopefully.

"Miss Black? Are you feeling better?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, and I've come to a decision." She lifted her chin as she made her announcement.

He stood and walked back over to her, impatient to get through the dramatic bit. After waiting for a few minutes he decided to give her what she wanted and just ask what it was. "I'd love to hear what your decision is."

"I'll help you."

The attack on the Ministry of Magic had begun. Draco didn't hesitate as he charged across the atrium, fully expecting to die in the next few seconds. Instead, something in the blaze of his eyes caused witches and wizards throughout the hall to forget that they still held their wands, forget that he couldn't possibly curse them all at once as they turned and ran. They dropped papers, briefcases, lunch bags, even wands and fled. A thick-set witch lost her footing amongst some dropped manila files and rolled over just in time for Draco to nearly step on her.

"Don't hurt me! Please!" She threw her hands up.

Draco remembered why he was here. There were Death Eaters everywhere, behind him, watching. He couldn't pass her by. He stopped his running, tossed his head to get the hair out of his eyes.

His voice was calm, quiet, resigned. "Incarcerous." With a step he reached her and slipped a portkey from his right pocket under the top of the ropes now binding her. "Portus."

With that she was gone. Sent via Portkey to the Lestrange's dungeons where others would determine whether she would serve willingly, out of terror, or through the imperious. One way or another she would be marked and she would serve the Dark Lord.

Draco resumed his plunder of the cowardly souls of the Ministry of Magic, hoping with every step that he would be shot down in a flash of green.

Thirty minutes later he stormed down a hall, blasting office doors open as he went, in an utterly foul mood. His plan to die in battle was failing spectacularly. Who knew it would be so difficult? Instead he was finding his new approach made him disturbingly invincible. And where was the Order? He'd sent them word that there would be a major attack tonight. No, he hadn't said where, but where could be more conspicuous than the Ministry of Magic? He'd figured that they would be on alert, ready, and when they got word of trouble in London they'd appear quickly to fight them off, but not too quickly. If this was how fast they were when warned ahead of time, how long did it take them to react to a surprise attack? Incompetent fools.

The hall seemed to be deserted. He glanced up at a sign – the Goblin Liaison offices were to the left, the Magical Creatures Department, Beast Division, was to his right. He saw a door shut to the right and went to see who was hiding in there. Rather than open the door, he fired a reducto at the wall to the side of the door. A shaking wizard whipped around, but immediately threw his wand down and put his hands in the air. "Please! Don't hurt me! I surrender."

Another Incarcerous, this one with a Silencio too since this guy was annoying, another portkey, another Portos. The portkey activated, the man disappeared with a look of surprise. Draco mentally counted "Fourteen." He was well past his quota of ten.

He heard a noise down a side hall. He was getting tired, but it wouldn't look good to quit too early. He turned to pursue. Someone was running, so he ran after them. He'd pretty much given up on being blasted.

The wizard reached the end of the hall, no door, no escape. This one whipped around, wand drawn and for the first time this night Draco found himself looking down a wand.

"Just kill me," the man snarled. Draco sighed. Why didn't this guy try to kill him? Then he looked into a black bearded face. Something was familiar there. He walked toward him, trying to get a better look at his eyes.

"Blaise?" he asked.

"I won't come with you," was the only answer.

"I'm not going to kill you." Draco answered, raising his mask, then lowering his wand.

"I won't be a Death Eater. Just end it and save yourself some time."

"Good for you."

Blaise's brow furrowed. His eyes searched Draco's face – looking for sarcasm that wasn't there.

"What are you playing at?"

"Do you remember when we were ten?"

"What?" Blaise looked as though he didn't understand English. Or he thought Draco was insane.

"Behind the gazebo in your mother's garden – we became blood brothers." Blaise shifted his stance, wand faltering. He remembered.

They'd been idiots. No idea how to really use blood magic. No clue that it was generally a dark art that required preparation, incantation. They'd loved the idea of it though. They slit their palms, held their bleeding hands together, thrilling at the pain. Draco'd even thought he felt some buzz of . . . something coursing through them.

He reached out to Blaise, who frowned, but took his offered hand.

"Brothers forever," he said as he reached, this time into his left robe pocket. He handed him a brass key, which happened to be a portkey, said "Portus," and as Blaise vanished he murmured "Be safe."

That night he stared at the ceiling above his bed, knowing that somewhere, hopefully somewhere far away from England, Blaise was still wondering too. Wondering why Draco had sent him to a field near the cliffs of Dover. Wondering whether the stories of the super Death Eater were true, just exaggerations or completely off the point.

Draco realized that he liked being the good guy for once.

He smiled and for the first time in weeks, Draco slipped into a sound sleep.

**AN – First of all – this is a Dramione! I promise. They will eventually both be in the same chapter. Just be patient.**

**Secondly, I love reviews. I'd love more of them, but the ones I've gotten are so amazing that quality is clearly trumping quantity. Still, if you'd like to let me know what you think, esp. what's your favorite part, what do you think could be better, I'd love to hear from you.**

**Finally, bonus points to anyone who is enough of a Harry Potter geek to catch where I got the name "Spinks." Anyone?**


	8. Chapter 8 - Orphans

8 – Orphans

"You have got to be kidding me! You're going to ignore . . . ."

"Miss Granger."

" . . . this message too! We ignored the last message. No one would take it seriously . . . ."

"Miss Granger."

" . . . until we got more details so four good people died, nine disappeared, and the entire Ministry of Magic is compromised beyond . . . ."

"MISS GRANGER!"

Hermione's head jerked and her eyes met Kingsley Shacklebolt's. He was now standing, his face set. She opened her mouth as if to finish her sentence, but instead sucked a quick breath, bit her lower lip and sat down. She folded her hands on the table, and stared intently at her clenched fingers.

She needed to calm down, keep her cool. They weren't supposed to know that she was the contact, that she was the one translating the messages. She was going to give herself away. Anyone with eyes could already see that she was too invested in this, too desperate to get them all to take the new message seriously. But that was the problem – Shacklebolt told them only "we have information regarding . . . ." The idea was to keep confidentiality, to give no more information than was necessary. But the result was there was no one to trust but some nameless, faceless Death Eater.

So no one trusted the source. Except Hermione. For some reason she trusted her source. Most of them were frustrated because the information the source gave was so incomplete. The warnings, when they came, were always at the last minute. There was never any way they could prevent the attacks. It was all they could do to respond in time to minimize the casualties.

That was exactly why Hermione trusted her source - because that was how she would give information if she was the one giving it. Too much information and it would quickly become obvious that they'd been tipped off. Too much lead time and the other Death Eaters would know there was a spy within their ranks.

She glanced over at Ron and Harry. Ron gave her a puzzled frown, eyebrows asking why she was so worked up. Harry, though, was staring off into space, almost like he hadn't heard anything anyone had said. At least neither of them had figured out why she was so invested in this message, and they knew her better than anyone.

Shacklebolt allowed a couple of moments of silence to clear the air, then said "Minerva. You were saying?"

"I did not mean to suggest that we ignore the message. It's just that . . . it seems like more of a riddle than a normal message. What exactly are we supposed to do with it?"

McGonagall wasn't looking at Hermione. In fact, she was looking at everyone except Hermione, but she was right. As Hermione had explained to Shacklebolt and Mr. Weasley earlier, this message had come in written in an unusual type of rune, usually only used for riddles. It was a very strange message. All the stranger since most people didn't even take the time to learn how to decipher these rarely used runes. Maybe that was why she had such an affinity for their contact – Dumbledore was the only other wizard she'd met who had bothered to learn the riddle runes.

Shacklebolt, to his credit, was obviously taking the message seriously this time. At least he had included it as a topic in the weekly Order meeting.

Hermione took a deep breath. She needed to stay objective and try to handle this calmly. She looked up at Professor McGonagall. "That's just the thing. I think this message is asking for help."

"So now we're supposed to be _helping_ the Death Eaters," grumbled Aberforth. He glared at Hermione as if she'd just pulled up her sleeve and shown her own Dark Mark.

"I think . . . our contact . . . is looking for a way to . . . minimize the death of innocent children without blowing their cover." Hermione clipped her words, as she again stared at her gripped hands.

"But it doesn't say where or when an attack on an orphanage might be." Charlie Weasley, as usual, wasn't sitting at the table, but pacing about in the rear of the kitchen. "Can you read it again?"

Shacklebolt nodded - _"If an orphanage were to be attacked, what should be done?"_

"The answer's obvious – unless you're a monster." Molly Weasley also seemed to struggling to control her anger. Her arms were folded tightly against her chest. "You get all the children out and far away, somewhere safe, before the attack even begins."

Hermione shook her head. "But no, because then they'll know we were warned. Our agent will be endangered and the Death Eaters will just choose another target. And there's no way we can evacuate all the orphanages in London."

"Of course not," retorted Mrs. Weasley. "Because this joker won't even give us a time and date. And for the lives of innocent children a little danger . . . ."

Mr. Weasley sat up and looked like he might interrupt, but Shaklebolt cut off the discussion before it could get out of hand again, "Molly, why don't you write up a list of all the orphanages in London . . . ."

"No reason it has to be in London," muttered Aberforth.

"All right, England then. Aberforth, help her with that," said Shaklebolt. "Now, we have to move on."

Hermione spent the rest of the meeting trying to calm herself down. She practiced the deep breathing that her mother had shown her. It worked to relax nervous dental patients, but its effect on her racing heart was miniscule, and it didn't help her budding headache at all. She tried counting the cookies remaining on the plate in the center of the table, then running through her head all of the steps in the recipe for sugar cookies. But that reminded her of baking with Mrs. Weasley, which brought her back to Mrs. Weasley's refusal to really listen to her. If they wanted to keep the orphans actually safe, not just feel good about protecting them, but really protect as many as they could . . . .

So she distracted herself with making notes about how to make an orphanage attack proof. Anything too obvious, like iron-clad wards, conspicuous Order guards, would just send the attackers to a different orphanage, and the recent carnage in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds had caused orphanages to spring up all over the U.K.

It would be best if the Death Eaters thought that their attack on an orphanage had been successful, that they had killed a bunch of helpless children. Then maybe they wouldn't feel the need to do it again. How could they trick the attackers, without hurting any children?

If you evacuated the children – which shouldn't be too hard, some sort of offer for a free trip to the zoo or to a park across town, but then – how to create the illusion that there were still orphans there. A glamour? They'd see through it when they broke in. Memory alteration? It worked on Muggles, but if they could pin the Death Eaters down long enough to do that, then they could just imprison them. Transfiguration. Could something be transfigured to look like children? It would be tricky magic, but surely . . .

"Hermione? Coming?" Ron was standing, one eyebrow raised. The room was emptying.

"Yeah." She closed her notebook. He held out a cookie to her – he'd grabbed half a dozen – but her stomach was too unsettled so she shook her head. They left the kitchen and she headed upstairs to her room, Ron following behind as she figured he would. She wasn't sure where Harry had gone.

She shouldn't be mad at Ron. He couldn't help what his mother said. She wasn't mad at him, just frustrated with the whole situation, except that he didn't say anything to help her, didn't defend her to his mother, point out that she wasn't trying to get innocent children killed. Did he understand? Did he think she didn't care about the children? Like the rest of them?

"You know you're stomping hard enough to wake up old lady Walburga downstairs," Ron said as they climbed the stairs to the third floor.

"Oh. Sorry." Hermione took a deep breath and tried to walk more quietly.

"I don't get it. Why do you let this get to you so much? Why do you care if they don't trust some Death Eater?"

She hated this. She couldn't talk to him. She couldn't explain what was really going on. The worst thing of all was that she wasn't sure that she wanted to. If she could talk about her assignment, if she could tell him what she had translated, would he believe her? Would he help her? She didn't know the answer, and that was answer enough.

"I don't know," was all she said.

She pushed open her door, tossed her notebook on her desk, and went to stare out of the window. Her forehead was starting to pound. She just wasn't in the mood to deal with him or with anyone right now.

Ron came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, pushing them down, trying to rub the tension out of her neck. Instead, she felt her muscles tighten at his touch. He had wonderful strong hands. Why couldn't she relax? Because she knew where he was going with this.

"Hermione, you are so tense." His voice was soft, right in her ear. He kissed the back of her head, then began to kiss down the side of her neck. "I could help you relax."

She used to love when he would touch her tenderly, rub her neck, kiss her. What had changed? Why did she . . . .

"Hermione!" The door flew open and Ginny dashed in, followed a few steps behind by Harry. Ron jumped back, but Ginny had already grabbed Hermione into an enthusiastic hug. "How've you been? I've missed you all so much. What's been going on? What've I missed?"

Hermione smiled at the gush of questions. "Nothing much. Just the same old, same old." She smirked and Ginny let out a sharp laugh.

"I hear you're mixing it up with my mum. I thought you were smarter than that."

"No kidding. Is she mad at me? What did she say?" Hermione sat down on the bed, still clutching Ginny's hands. She couldn't believe how good it was to see her. Ginny was such a breath of fresh air after being around nothing but the boys for too long.

It would be lovely to be able to talk to Ginny privately, to really talk to her, but Harry had already sat down on Ginny's other side. He wasn't going to let her out of his sight just yet. Ron, however, was now staring out of the window. He hadn't greeted Ginny at all. Hermione rolled her eyes and looked back at Harry.

"So this explains why you were a million miles away during the meeting. You knew we'd be getting a visitor," Hermione teased.

"It's better than that." Ginny was exuberant. "I got here this morning. Harry didn't want to say anything until after the meeting. He didn't want anyone to give anything away."

"He just wanted to keep you for himself. Seriously, Gin, what's going on?" Hermione had a dozen questions, but Ron interrupted.

"Do Mum and Dad know you're here? Are they okay with this?"

Hermione bit her lip. She didn't think it was right for Ginny to be locked up at the Burrow, but she wasn't sure she was ready for all-out war with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley - and Ron too, judging from his tone.

"Yes. They know. Well, they expect me to come over tonight. They didn't know that I sneaked out this morning. Are they okay with it? Dad is more than Mum, but Shacklebolt talked to them. They don't have a choice." She leaned back on her arms, looking more smug than Crookshanks when he perched on his favorite pillow.

"How'd you pull that off?" Ron didn't seem to believe her.

"Bill helped. It's not fair for me to be the only one cooped up, the only one kept safe. I'm of age. You guys have been fighting him forever. Now there's lots of people in my year who're helping the Order – Colin Creevey, Geoff Stebbins. Even Luna – and she's barely older than me and she's, well, Luna. There's no reason why I'm any different. No reason to treat me like . . . ."

"So what've they agreed to?" Ginny was starting to rant, and Hermione thought it'd be better to stop her before she said something she'd regret.

"I get to be included like everyone else. No more locking me in my room. When the others in my year are inducted into the Order, I can be too." Hermione was glad that Ginny's voice had dropped. She seemed to be realizing how dangerous all of this was.

"Are you going on raids?" Ron's voice was low and angry.

Ginny sat up straight and jutted her chin out. "Yes," she said at the same time that Harry said "No."

She rolled her eyes over her shoulder at him. "Everyone's important to someone. It's not fair if some people get to protect the ones they care about and others don't."

"But they won't let me go on raids," retorted Harry. "And there are plenty of Death Eaters who were at Hogwarts, who knew we were dating. They're going to go after you."

"Not if they don't know I'm there," she said blithely.

They stayed up late into the night, catching Ginny up on the raids, their theories about Snake-eyes, even the riddle from Hermione's Death Eater. Hermione didn't tell her she was the handler, but it was going to be hard for Hermione not to tell her what her role was - maybe even harder than not telling the boys.

Ginny had always been good at coming up with ways to get things done, and when she got involved, Ron and Harry did too. They all agreed right away that the thing to do was to clear the real orphans and their guardians, then use decoys so that the Death Eaters would think they'd killed the orphans.

"We've got to talk to George. Surely he's got some stuff that could help. He transfigured a doll of mine once – made it come alive, but . . . ."

"What? That'd be great." They were all sitting on the floor now and Ron was sitting with them, finally coming out of his sulk.

"Well . . . it wouldn't fool anyone. It was actually kind of creepy. Not like a real kid."

When Hermione finally chased the boys out, she cast an expanding charm on her bed and let Ginny crash with her. They'd add another bed tomorrow, although Ginny said that technically she was still going to be living at the Burrow.

They were just drifting off when Ginny asked "So . . . what's going on with you and Ron?"

Hermione bit her lip. Ginny was his sister. She couldn't ask her to listen when Hermione complained about him, especially since her complaints were so vague, just something not quite right. But she was dying to talk to someone, to somehow figure out what she was doing wrong. And Ginny knew more about relationships than anyone Hermione knew.

"That bad, huh?" Oops. She'd been quiet too long.

"Kind of. I don't know. Things just aren't . . . right."

"You're not happy. That's obvious. He's not either."

"Yeah. . . . What should I do?" Hermione rolled on one side so that she could look at Ginny. Her eyes were stinging, but she wasn't sure that she would cry.

"Maybe there's nothing you can do. Maybe it just doesn't work."

"Maybe."

The euphoria over Ginny's return lasted for several days. But Mr. and Mrs. Weasley finally insisted that she stop sleeping over at Grimmauld Place every night, and the reality of the ongoing war crowded back in on them.

Hermione was having trouble sleeping. As the late summer sun leaked into her room she groaned and rolled over, but a few minutes later she opened one eye and glanced at the clock – 5:27. No wonder the house was quiet. She closed her eyes for a bit, but she knew herself well enough to know that she wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep.

A few minutes later, she'd thrown on a t-shirt and jeans and headed downstairs to start some tea. As she passed through the front hall she stopped suddenly. Had she heard her name?

"_Miss Granger,"_ came an urgent whisper.

She looked back up the stairs – no one. And she hadn't heard anyone stirring in the house yet. In this creaky old house it was impossible to open a door, or go up or down the stairs without making some sound.

"_Miss Granger."_

The sound was coming from above, back and to her left. As she looked up motion in one of the portraits caught her eye. In a formal family portrait, one of the young girls, hair in ringlets, wearing pink dress robes, was waving at her. The others in the painting were ignoring her, although one, perhaps her mother, was franticly shushing her.

"_Miss Granger,"_ the girl was nearly jumping up and down with excitement now that she'd caught Hermione's eye. _"Miss Hyacinth wants to speak with you. As soon as you can."_

It took only a moment for the message to register in Hermione's sleepy brain. After a quick "thank you," she hurried into the library.

Hyacinth was standing, maybe pacing, when Hermione came in.

"Did you need me? What's happened?" Hermione asked. Hyacinth didn't say a word. She sat back down, resumed her pose, but gestured with her head over her shoulder at the vase.

Hermione smiled. Hyacinth seemed to enjoy the secretive nature of her role. Hermione grabbed a parchment from the table and began translating the new message. Her eyes grew wider as she worked, then she rushed from the room, almost forgetting to call a quick "thank you" over her shoulder.

Within a half hour there were a dozen Order members crowding the kitchen, as Mr. Weasley explained that there was to be an attack on the London Underground sometime in the morning. Hermione thought that she was the only one who'd actually ridden on the Underground, until George admitted that he'd spent a day riding the trains when he was only 12. He didn't mention whether Fred had been with him and no one asked. Then Mr. Weasley admitted that he had been to one of the stations, but he never got past the ticketing machine.

Soon they had a hasty plan. They sent out scouts on brooms – Ron, George, Oliver and Neville, even though Neville wasn't a very good flier. They were disillusioned then they split up a list of the main underground lines beginning in central London. Between the four of them they'd have to check the lines one at a time. They'd fly low, and signal as soon as they found the disturbance using the magical galleons they all now carried. There was no time for fancier planning than that.

Sitting alone at the kitchen table, finally drinking her tea, Hermione realized that she had forgotten one detail. She'd forgotten to have them let her know when they found the attack. She knew they'd be busy fighting Death Eaters, healing Muggles, cleaning up the mess with the Muggles' authorities. They'd have better things to do than to contact her. Better to go get Harry and go do their mission for the day, although it was absurdly simple.

She brought Harry a cup of tea, puzzling over the fact that all the noise and hubbub earlier hadn't woken him. She knocked on the door of the room he shared with Ron, but heard only a groan in answer. Worried, she pushed the door open.

"Harry?"

"Hmmm." A sort of groan was the only answer.

"Are you okay?"

"No. . . . I feel like death."

Hermione felt his forehead. "You're burning up. Do you want me to get you a fever reducing potion?"

"No. I'll be okay. Give me a moment and I'll be . . . _cough_ . . . ready to go."

"Don't be ridiculous. Besides this is the easiest mission yet. I'll be back in a couple of hours even without your help. Go back to sleep."

Harry grumbled, but he was already drifting off again.

Checking over Snape's office and quarters probably wouldn't take long at all. It was fortuitous that Harry's illness had hit on a day when their assignment was so simple. Hermione bit her lip and hummed to herself. Was it just luck or . . . . She decided that she needed to have a little chat with Harry when she got back.

Hermione stepped out of the floo and into McGonagall's office, where the professor was waiting for her. Minvera led her to Professor Snape's old rooms, which had been magically sealed as soon as he abandoned his post. Others, including Professor McGonagall, had already checked his rooms to see if there was anything crucial there. At Spinner's End, Harry and Hermione had the distinct impression that a good number of his belongings had somehow been removed. Professor McGonagall believed the same thing had happened at Hogwarts. The question was how. Since Snape had left abruptly, at the start of the Battle of Hogwarts, then been killed by Nagini later that same night, it was quite a mystery.

Hermione was playing detective. She was there to see if she could figure out what had been taken and who'd taken it. She wasn't very hopeful. Snape had been many things, but he clearly was an extraordinarily competent wizard who wasn't likely to leave careless clues. Although, given what she now knew about his true loyalty, it was possible that he'd purposefully left some indication of where anything important might be found.

Unfortunately a careful sweep of his quarters, including a check for magically hidden compartments, turned up nothing. His few dust-covered belongings appeared as though he'd just stepped away, but his book shelves were empty.

It did appear that he'd left in a hurry. The chair by his desk was overturned. Hermione righted it. After this last check McGonagall was going to have his chambers cleaned out anyway. He must have been interrupted grading papers when the battle began. How strange that anything so mundane had been happening. She hadn't realized that he'd kept teaching while he was headmaster. His inkpot had overturned, spreading black ink all over the topmost paper. Unable to resist, Hermione checked to see whether a grade could still be made out. Of course, Snape had been giving Draco Malfoy an O+ for some sort of advanced Potions special project. Hermione felt a flash of competitive angst. He'd never given her an O, but at least Malfoy would never know he got a perfect score. She immediately felt childish for still caring at all about grades.

The last place she checked was his private bathroom. The cabinet where he'd kept his personal potions was almost empty. There were two small pills left in the lower corner. She picked one up. It looked familiar, but out of place. She was almost certain this was a Muggle painkiller, the kind her parents always offered her if she had a headache while she was at home. She hadn't actually taken one in years since they didn't work as well as the simple pain relief potion she usually had with her. Why would one be here? Why would Professor Snape, the Potions Master of all people, take these? Or did he use them in a potion? Would that even work? He never failed to be puzzling.

She stepped out of the room and frowned, noticing a hand mirror propped on the mantel above the fireplace. If Harry were with her, he'd probably have made some snide comment about being surprised that Snape even owned a mirror, but the memory of Snape's hideous murder kept Hermione from finding any humor in such thoughts.

She took one last thorough look around. She'd bottle that memory and review it later. Maybe Harry would see something she'd missed. She was about to leave when the hand mirror caught her eye again. Suddenly she remembered seeing a strange mirror at Spinner's End. She crossed over and examined the mirror more closely. Sure enough it didn't show her reflection rather she seemed to see a dark cloth draped in it. She picked it up and studied it, then the pieces fit together. It was a mirror – like Harry's – with a partner and its partner was wrapped in dark cloth, somewhere. Could there be more than two to the set? There could be or it could be two separate sets. One way or another it was just too much of a coincidence to find mirrors, and almost nothing else, both at Spinner's End and in Snape's rooms at Hogwarts. That meant that when she'd seen something move in that other mirror someone had seen them, seen she and Harry the day that they looked through Snape's empty house.

But who?


	9. Chapter 9 - Unplanned

9 – Unplanned

Draco ran down the stairs into the London Underground, stupefying Muggles right and left, cape billowing behind him. The stairs were disgusting, dirty and now littered with a skattering of papers that one of the Muggles had dropped. Draco cast a quick anti-tripping charm on himself, then stupefied a Muggle woman who was cowering against the wall, her baby pressed into her chest. He made sure that the babe was stupefied too – a crying baby wouldn't have a chance. He glanced around, hoping no Death Eaters were watching - no one – the he levitated both of them into a doorway.

He couldn't decide whether to be pleased or annoyed at the complete disarray of this attack. MacNair was in charge and he was a complete joke. Of all the places they'd targeted this one called the most for some research, for some serious reconnaissance. None of them had ever even been in the Underground before. But MacNair had them charging in, with no idea what they were going to find, how they were going to handle it.

Today Draco had given the Order pretty much all of the information he'd had, which was close to nothing. MacNair had gotten drunk last night and decided that it was time to move. Dolohov had been the one who pointed out that the stations would be empty, or nearly so, in the middle of the night. After a ridiculous amount of shouting, MacNair had relented, or at least he'd fallen asleep.

This morning MacNair had apparently taken quite a bit of pepper-up potion and they were off. They apparated into Trafalgar Square, which appeared to be the only part of Muggle London that MacNair knew. Even though they were past caring if Muggles saw them suddenly appear it was downright dangerous to apparate into such a crowded place. Draco had chosen the doorway to Porter Bros., an upscale Muggle men's tailor where his father had taken him to get suitable clothes before the Quidditch World Cup. That day with his father seemed a lifetime away, like it had happened to someone else.

Now, they were supposed to kill as many Muggles as they could, then grab a few living ones for sport. Thinking of that, Draco turned back and cast a disillusioning spell on the still-stupified mother and child. He couldn't do that for all of them, but he could take away the most horrifying possibilities. At least he was alone in his stairway so no one would know he'd been stupefying and not killing. Unfortunately, there was no way – at least none that he'd found so far – to fake the green burst of light given out by the killing curse.

He was almost to the platform when a Muggle policeman began to rush up the stairs. He nearly collided with Draco, then looked up into his mask face and froze. He looked as though his worst nightmare was coming true. Draco's wand was already in his face. He stupefied the man, hoping he had a strong heart. As he looked into his now unconscious stricken face, Draco had an idea. He blasted open a random metal door and dragged the policemen into a long hallway. There he set him against a wall. He took a moment to contemplate how much he hated someone, anyone, Greyback would do. Then he cast a half dozen Avada Kevadras down the hallway. That was all he would need to create some memories that would satisfy the Dark Lord.

He came out of the hallway and found mass hysteria. If terrifying Muggles was the goal then this was working. Muggles had been running for the nearby staircase, but a Death Eater – Rowle maybe – was there. So the ones in front had turned and were pressing back into the crowd. Green light was flashing from Rowle's wand and Muggles dropped one after another. Draco dropped back into the hall as he calculated whether he should, whether he could, stop Rowle. He could, but he'd have to be careful. He ducked down low and shot a tripping hex at Rowle. The first couple of tries he missed, and various Muggles went sprawling. Finally, he hit him. Then, quickly, while he was down and obscured by the mob he stupefied him. Hopefully, he'd think an Order member did it, assuming that they would show up soon. If someone, one of the Death Eaters, found him before anyone from the Order showed up it could be a problem. But with this chaos that was unlikely. As always, he had to play the odds.

Glancing down to the train platform he saw Muggles mobbing onto the one stopped train. Draco hoped that whoever was driving would get it out of here quickly, before MacNair had time to figure out something hideous to do to it.

It would have been possible to cause some real mayhem by crashing two trains, but MacNair hadn't thought of that and Draco wasn't going to make the suggestion. Like the rest of the Death Eaters, MacNair's only experience with a train station was during his childhood at Platform 9 ¾. There'd been only one train there, but surely they'd noticed the many trains before they went through the barrier.

"Oy, Draco!" Draco turned to see who'd called his name and saw a heavy set Death Eater coming toward him. Despite the mask Draco recognized the distinctive lumber of Vincent Crabbe. Even though he'd grown considerably, both in height and girth, his walk was one Draco'd known for years.

"What're you doing here?" Draco realized, belatedly, that he probably shouldn't sound so annoyed to see Crabbe. This was all supposed to be a great lark. However, Crabbe wasn't a full Death Eater yet and Draco wasn't looking forward to watching him give up his freedom. For what? Warning him off, at least blatantly, would be too dangerous. As far as Draco knew, Crabbe was still a true believer, if not in the Dark Lord at least in impressing his own father, and Crabbe, Sr. was apparently a dedicated Death Eater.

"Looking for something to do." Draco was momentarily confused, until he realized that Crabbe was answering the question he'd asked. He needed to get his head in the game, stop being so distracted. "Next time I want to be on your team. All the stairways were taken." Crabbe was in a petulant mood.

"There weren't really any teams today," Draco pointed out. He needed to discourage Crabbe. Draco couldn't afford to have Crabbe as a lackey any more. Even though he wasn't the most observant sort, he still might notice something amiss if they spent too much time together.

"Guess I'll go find something to blast," said Crabbe, heading down the platform toward the train. Reluctantly, Draco went with him. There was really nowhere else that was plausible to go. McNair was now sending all the Death Eaters down the platform, shouting something about destroying the train, but his shouts halted abruptly as the doors began to close. This was obviously a very different sort of train from the Hogwarts Express. MacNair panicked and tried to force his way through a set of closing doors, which closed on his leg. The train's forward motion yanked him off of his feet and the Muggles within the train apparently pushed his foot out as the train quickly reached speed. Draco glanced at Crabbe and schooled his face to look disappointed, not amused.

MacNair, from the platform where he'd fallen, was still shouting, now trying to convince Crabbe, Sr. or Mulciber to jump onto the train. Neither seemed to want to be the lone Death Eater on the departing vehicle and both were well past their best jumping days. The train was just pulling past MacNair when Aunt Bella rushed in from somewhere down the platform.

"Reducto!" she shouted, blasting the very back of the train. The metal tore open and Draco watched as the Muggles struggled to keep anyone from falling out of the back onto the track. Draco cast a quick smoke charm at the back of the train to conceal them, along with a blasting hex that just made a very loud bang.

MacNair began to scream. Apparently some of the shredded metal from Bellatrix's curse had cut into his leg. He was bleeding profusely.

And then the first Order member appeared – a Weasley soaring down an open staircase on a broom with a loud battle cry. Another shout answered it and Draco saw another red head on a broom across the station. Finally they were here. He was surprised to see that one was Potter's sidekick. Would Potter himself be here? More shouts echoed through the station – they were arriving in force.

Draco decided that it was time to go. The Weasley closest to him shot a stunning curse at Mulciber and he went down. Another war whoop and Draco marvelled at the look of fierce joy on the red head's face. For a moment he was envious – they could fight all out, throwing themselves into the fray, giving it all they had. But Draco – he was on the side that he hoped in his heart wouldn't win. He had to fake fighting, while trying all the time not to achieve much at all. As usual, it gave him a headache. Just then he looked up into the eyes of a tawny haired wizard who had swooped down a staircase at an amazing speed.

It was time to go.

Draco spun in apparition, arriving instantly on the front porch of his own manor. The sudden silence was as jarring as the noise had been. He was so tired. He sat on the top of the stairs, leaning back against one of the columns flanking them. He gazed without seeing out over the flawless front lawn and the imposing iron gate. He'd wait a few moments before joining the rendezvous at the MacNair estate. It was never a good idea to be early to a Death Eater gathering.

"Master?"

Draco jumped, then he realized that he should have been expecting one of Nappy's sudden appearances. "Yes?"

"Nappy get Master something?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine."

"Nappy have water."

Draco turned to look at Nappy. She was holding a tall crystal glass of ice water out to him.

"Sure. Thanks." Draco took the glass, then looked pointedly at the stair next to him, wordlessly inviting Nappy to sit with him. She did.

"Master fight battle?" she asked after a few moments.

"Sort of," he said wryly. He was fighting the Dark Lord, in his own way. Sometimes he longed for the freedom to go after him in a full frontal attack though – blasting away, smashing through Death Eaters until the Dark Lord himself fell. He smiled at his own little fantasy.

"Master not hurt?"

"Not really."

They sat in silence as Draco finished his water. The elf's presence was comforting. She was, in a very real sense, the only family he had left.

After he finished the water, which didn't take long – he had been parched, he stood and handed her the glass. "Thanks, Nappy. What would I do without you?"

She smiled shyly. "Be thirsty?"

"Yeah."

Nappy looked him over and frowned. "Master is mussed."

He probably was. He held his arms straight out from his sides. "Fix me then?"

He closed his eyes and felt the cool breath of Nappy's magic. He looked down and saw that his robes were as smooth and black as when he first pulled them from his closet. He reached up and felt that his hair was once again clean and perfectly in place. He might as well look like a Malfoy.

"Better?" he asked Nappy. Her eyebrows drew together as she slowly looked him up and down.

"Master not mussed."

"Thank you. I have no idea what time I'll be back."

He took a deep breath. He still needed to prepare his mind, but it would be much easier now that he was calm. He took a moment to mentally build the memories he was going to need, then used the portkey he'd been given to travel to the Dark Lord's cave. They'd left from MacNair's sitting room, but all missions finished by reporting back to the boss. Did it bother anyone else that their Lord sat back in safety and criticized their missions, the missions he didn't even attend? That was a question that couldn't be asked.

All around him others were stumbling in, as their portkeys dropped them off. Draco threw back his head and strode to his position. The Dark Lord was standing over MacNair, who cowered on the floor, unable to stand, either from pain or fear. It was hard to tell.

"You don't even know how many were killed?" The Dark Lord's angry voice, echoed as the gathered Death Eaters froze with tension.

"Many, sir. Maybe not all of them, but most of them." MacNair's voice was hard to hear as he was looking down at the ground. Draco noticed that the right side of his face was swollen, red, with a cut crossing his cheek. He'd been backhanded.

"I told you to bring some back alive. Where are they?"

MacNair glanced up at the two Muggles being clutched by Aunt Bella.

"Yes, Bellatrix brought me playthings. But you didn't."

"I was . . . I meant . . . My Lord, forgive me." His voice fell. He knew that was the right thing to say, but he also knew there'd be no forgiving. He was shaking. Draco noticed the dark pool of blood gathering under his leg. Fear might not be the only thing causing him to quiver.

Draco wondered how many of the rest of them would also be punished for not bringing any back alive. Aunt Bella was, so far, the only one who had.

"Getting soft on the Muggles, aren't you?" The Dark Lord was no longer shouting. Now his voice was a hiss. He was always more dangerous when he did that.

"No. No. Never. I killed . . . many. I thought you wanted . . . they were so scared. Running everywhere, screaming. I thought . . . ."

"Enough of your _thinking._" One of the Muggles whimpered. The Dark Lord turned, almost salivating. His impatience for pain might save MacNair. He'd want to be done with him soon. Of course, maybe he'd just kill him quickly. He looked back at the lump of a Death Eater.

"Crucio." They were all startled. It was unusual for the Dark Lord to do the tormenting himself. Of course, keeping them off balance was all part of his game. As MacNair screamed and thrashed, blood from his leg wound splattered about the room, splashing several Death Eaters. They were careful not to flinch. Draco was glad it didn't get on him. He didn't want to get mussed again.

The Dark Lord stopped and spoke conversationally to MacNair. "You are injured."

"The train. When it exploded . . . my leg is cut."

"Is it?"

"My Lord?" MacNair was such an idiot. He had no idea how to handle the Dark Lord's rage. "It hurts." That was the last thing he should have let the Dark Lord know. Weakness of any sort was an invitation to him.

"I'm sure it does. You know the rules. Your mission did not succeed. Your wounds will receive the Muggle treatment." In other words, no treatment at all. Draco wondered if the cut was bad enough for him to bleed out. Would he know how to keep it clean, prevent infection? Probably not.

"Draco." The Dark Lord's attention had turned. Draco had to force his shoulders to relax. "Did you get a count of the Muggles killed?"

"There were four stairwells – 20-25 dead Muggles in each. On the platform there were 4 to 5 dozen dead Muggles, then another 3 off the back of the train." This was complete garbage. He was just throwing out numbers, but if he could make it sound authoritative no one else would contradict him. He doubted that any of the rest of them had been paying enough attention to have any idea. Dolohov would have been a problem, both because he was smart and because he was always looking for a way to best Draco in front of the Dark Lord. He'd missed this raid though. "A total of 150 to 160 dead, my Lord."

"Not bad. What about you, though? You didn't bring anyone back."

"My apologies. I found a nice fat policeman for you, but the coward died of fright. I chose poorly."

"May I see him?"

"Of course, my Lord." Draco looked the Dark Lord in the eyes and brought his memory of the policeman to the front of his mind. He'd manipulated the memory so that he'd see the policeman looking up at Draco, then see Draco dragging him away, then a final look at his apparently lifeless self. He followed this memory quickly with many flashes of the Avada Kedavra as Muggles fell before him.

"A pity," said the Dark Lord as he left Draco's mind. "Bellatrix, bring forth our guests." Aunt Bella brought forth the two trembling Muggle men. "Draco, would you care to start?"

Perhaps the Dark Lord was pleased with him and this was a reward. Or perhaps it was another test, or maybe both at once. No matter, Draco was glad to go first. He could use the convulsio and that would be frightening enough to make them scream when they hadn't yet felt the crucio.

A few minutes later, Draco's turn was over. As the others took their turns, his mind went to the message he'd sent the Order just a few days ago. It'd been a bit of an experiment. Judging from the lack of response, apparently his experiment had failed. He'd been wondering who his contact was on the other side. It was too dangerous for them to know who he was, and he knew he couldn't ask for a name when he wouldn't give his name. But there'd only been one person at Hogwarts who could read the ancient riddle runes. Hermione Granger had learnt them for some sort of extra credit project. From that time on, whenever they'd encountered them in something that they were translating, Granger had been called upon to interpret. On the one occasion when she had difficulty, Professor Babbling couldn't help her and had sent her to Dumbledore. She wouldn't have done that if there were anyone else available who could read them. So with Dumbledore dead, if someone could read the riddle runes it was most likely Granger.

This little experiment had the added advantage that Granger didn't know that Draco had also learnt the riddle runes. In class, he'd been as clueless as the rest. However, over the summer, after the disastrous end to his 6th year, he'd been basically confined to his room for months – partially as punishment, and partially as protection – to keep him out of the Dark Lord's sight, out of his mind. With nothing to do he'd been dying of boredom. Nappy had taken to bringing him books from the Malfoy library. He always enjoyed the challenge of translating runes, and when several of the older texts contained the riddle runes, he'd decided to teach himself how to read them. At the time he'd thought it would be fun to check Granger's translation when she didn't know he could do it. Of course, she'd never returned to Hogwarts, at least not as a student, but that meant she'd never learnt of his new skill.

It was a moot point anyway. No response meant they couldn't read them. Or they'd had to send them off to someone not staying at their headquarters. Either way, he still didn't know who was his contact. Since the orphanage attack would have to be soon, he'd best find another way to warn them, along with coming up with a plan to minimize casualties on his own. It had to be a way that allowed for a certain amount of bloodshed, as the Dark Lord, and many of his followers, would never be happy without Muggle blood. Maybe he could use some sort of mirroring spell though to make it appear as though far more orphans had been killed.

By the time they were dismissed, Draco was exhausted and hungry. He should have grabbed a sandwich when he was home before, but it was usually better to face the Dark Lord on an empty stomach.

He entered the front hall and noticed something odd on the side table. In a silver tray was the brass key he'd given Blaise. It lay atop a plain white card, imprinted with the name "Blaise Zabini." Written beneath the name, in blue ink, was "8:00." Blaise had switched the portkey so that now it would take Draco . . . somewhere else, presumably some neutral territory, not the aurors' office at the Ministry of Magic. Of course, they had some agents there, too.

"Nappy." Draco called. The elf appeared with a 'pop.' "What is this?"

Nappy smiled and bounced slightly on her feet. "Master Blaise is paying Master Draco a call."

"Yes. When? What did he leave?"

"Master Blaise be here tea time. Master Blaise is saying Master Draco know what is key, what is to do."

Draco pulled out his pocket watch and sighed. It was 7:55. He should stay home, get some dinner and work on his next message to the Order. He had no way of knowing for sure that he could trust Blaise. This could be a trap. On the other hand, one could argue that Zabini now owed him a life debt. Would Blaise see it that way?

"How quickly could you get me a sandwich?"

Nappy snapped her fingers and huge roast beef and provolone sandwich appeared. "Is Master's favorite."

That settled it. The worst that could happen was that Blaise would be lying in wait to kill him. Since they were blood brothers he'd make it a quick death though, so that wouldn't be so bad.

Five minutes later Draco had wiped his mouth on the napkin Nappy provided, and grasped the key. He only had to wait a few seconds before it glowed blue and he felt the usual pull.

He landed, with as much grace as he could, in tall grass – a field somewhere. The sky was darkening and it took him a moment to see Blaise standing a few feet away, wand raised and aimed at his head.

"Zabini," he said raising his hands in the air, his wand still gripped in his right hand. "Do you want my wand?" He turned his hand, offering his wand.

Blaise reached out and took the wand, but still said nothing. He began to circle around Draco. Draco also turned, not willing to have anyone behind his back when he was unarmed.

"You left the portkey. You wanted me to come." He couldn't understand why Blaise was acting like this. Actually – that wasn't true. Zabini had always wanted to stay neutral and he had every reason to believe that Draco was firmly on the Dark Lord's side, very little reason to trust him.

At last Blaise spoke. "I'm still trying to decide if I'm insane for wanting to talk to you, wanting to know what happened at the Ministry."

"Ask me anything."

"What happened at the Ministry?"

Draco chuckled at Blaise's bluntness. "I was supposed to bring in recruits, force you to work for the Dark Lord."

"That's what I figured. You didn't. You let me go."

Draco nodded. "We were both lucky. I'd met my quota. There was no one around to see."

"You didn't want to bring in recruits? I thought he was your 'Lord.'"

"I don't have a choice. But you still do. I didn't want to take that away from you."

"How can I believe you? How can I trust that you're still not going to turn me over to him? Maybe you didn't meet your quota today."

"I don't know. I don't know what I can say to make you trust me. Can I put my arms down yet? My shoulders are getting tired."

"Sure. Why would you change your mind? You were always so gung ho."

"Not always. You know that by 6th year I was getting in over my head."

"By 6th year we never spoke. I don't have any idea what you were thinking."

Then Draco realized that Zabini would understand more than any of his other friends. He looked away as he said "He killed my mother."

Blaise was silent. He and Draco had been inseparable when they were younger, back when his step-father would call on Draco's father. Blaise knew how close Draco had been to his mother. They'd even discussed how Blaise wished his own mother was more like Narcissa.

"I'm sorry. She was an amazing woman."

Draco nodded.

At last Blaise made his decision. "Would you like to join me for a drink, maybe some chess? We can catch up."

"That would be amazing. Except . . . I want to talk about anything but my life."

"Okay." Blaise reached out his hand to take Draco's then apparated them both away. As they landed on the doorstep of a stately red brick building, Draco smiled. He remembered this house well. Together they went inside.


	10. Chapter 10 - Detecting

10 - Detecting

When Hermione arrived in the second floor parlour fireplace at Grimmauld Place, she could hear everyone gathering in the kitchen. She could make out Ron's loud laugh. Things must have gone well for him to be so boisterous. It was customary to have a debriefing after every battle. It sounded as though people were still returning from the Underground so it would be a bit before their meeting was finished.

Quietly, she slipped upstairs, wanting to see if her suspicions about Harry were correct before seeing everyone else. She halfway expected the room to be empty, but he was in the bed, apparently sleeping. Sure enough, the waste basket by Harry's desk held a couple of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes boxes. On the desk there were two glasses, one of which was empty, and one of which was half full of water. She picked up the empty one, smelled it and rolled her eyes.

She leaned back on the desk, folded her arms, and said "So Harry – has the polyjuice worn off yet?"

He sat up immediately. Of course, he hadn't really been asleep. He was obviously back to being Harry.

"How did you know?"

"First off, the timing was too convenient. Secondly, it would have been so easy to nick some polyjuice at Moody's. It was actually pretty suspicious that you didn't even suggest it. Your illness this morning was classic Skiving Snackboxes – a Puking Pastille and some Fever Fudge. I wasn't completely sure until I smelled the polyjuice." She nodded toward the glass. "So how did it go? I see you got back safe and sound."

"You're not mad? I would've told you, but it's just too dangerous with Fenrir after you."

"Except I won't smell like me with the polyjuice. No, I'm not mad, because now you have to let me go the next time or I'll rat you out." She smiled sweetly. Harry appeared about to argue, but stopped. "I assume that Ronald was in on this. Who else? Someone had to be to introduce the newest Order assistant."

"Bill helped too. I'm supposed to be a friend of his from Gringott's. He vouched for me to Kingsley."

"Of course. It would have been too suspicious to have Ron do it. Where'd you get the hair?"

"From a Muggle, in London. Bill got that too." Harry sat up and started pulling on his trainers. Other than shoes, he was fully clothed so he must have just gotten back.

Hermione shook her head fondly. "So where was the attack? Anybody hurt?"

"It was centered on Moorgate Station. It looked like there were trying to cause a train crash between Moorgate and the Barbican Station, but we headed it off. The cowards fled as soon as we showed up. Neville's the only one who was hurt, as far as I know. He dislocated his shoulder."

Hermione frowned. "What about Muggles? Surely some of them were . . . hurt."

"Yeah. At first, I thought that they'd killed a ton of Muggles, but most of them turned out to be stupefied."

"Stupefied? How strange. I wonder why."

"We might be able to find out. We got one – a Death Eater. I think his name is Rowle. He'd been stupefied too so he didn't leave when the rest of them left. The weird thing is I was right near where they found him, but I didn't hit him. Neither did Ron. We can't figure out who did."

"Where is he? Who's interrogating him?"

"Kingsley and Bill. I guess Kingsley's training Bill."

"I hope they get some good stuff off of him." Hermione smiled, glad that everyone was back safe. Then a vivid image of Barbican Station flashed through her mind. She'd been at the Barbican Station so many times with her parents. The thought of what could have been sunk in. If they had crashed two trains the carnage would have been disastrous.

"Hermione? Are you okay?" She must have blanched. She sat down quickly in the chair by Harry's desk.

"I'm fine." Hermione glanced at her watch. "You and Ron will have to tell me the details later. I've got a lunch date."

"What? With who?"

"Oh, relax. While I was at Hogwarts Professor McGonagall gave me a message from Andromeda. She's invited me over for lunch. She wants me to look through Lupin and Tonks' things."

"Wait. I'll come."

"No. You have to be convincingly sick, at least for the rest of the day. Otherwise they'll figure you out as easily as I did."

Harry groaned, but he couldn't argue with that. "I guess I'm taking a nap then."

"Maybe you can figure out what we can do about that orphanage attack. Any ideas?"

"No. All of my ideas are either too deadly or too clean. You?"

She shook her head. "Nothing." She was beginning to worry that she'd have to respond to the query with something useless like "No idea." She couldn't stand that thought, but it had already been too long since she'd received the riddle message. Giving no response at all wasn't right either.

A few minutes later she was brushing off ash as she stepped out of the floo at Andromeda's. "Hermione?" She looked up when she heard Andromeda's voice calling from another room. She could hear Teddy babbling in the background. "We're on the porch."

Hermione stepped out onto a wide porch. It had a large table elegantly set. In the center there were three platters piled high with dozens of very small sandwiches. Hermione's stomach growled at the sight of them. So far the only people there besides Andromeda were Lavender Brown and a man and woman who must've been her parents. Lavender was holding Teddy and trying to give him a bottle. He, however, didn't appear to be very hungry and was mostly playing with it.

"Hello, Andromeda. Thanks so much for inviting me. Grimmauld Place can get a bit . . . stifling. This is beautiful. Hi, Lavender. How are you?"

"Hermione." Lavender just nodded her way, then turned her attention back to Teddy.

Hermione waited awkwardly for a moment, wondering if Lavender was always so abrupt now. She still had vivid red scars on her face from Greyback's attack. Hermione knew, because of Bill Weasley, that the scars would fade with time, but they resisted magic healing.

Lavender's mother cleared her throat, and Lavender looked back up at Hermione. "Oh, I'm sorry. Mom, Dad, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, these are my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Brown." Like most of the purebloods Hermione knew, Lavender knew how to turn on the etiquette, if she was in the mood.

Hermione got the feeling that Lavender's parents knew a lot about her, possibly not all flattering. Mrs. Brown nodded graciously, but didn't smile as she said "Nice to finally meet you, Miss Granger." Mr. Brown just nodded as he said "Miss Granger," then went back to reading a copy of the "Prophet."

"Who knows when the others will arrive," Mrs. Tonks observed. "Let's eat." She took a sandwich from a silver tray before passing it to Mrs. Brown.

"I'm surprised you're not off fighting," said Lavender. This time there was no mistaking the sharp tone of her voice.

"No, I'm not allowed to go." Hermione considered explaining about the threats made against her by Fenrir, but decided against it since he was presumably a sore subject with Lavender. "Harry and I get sent on various inventory jobs instead. Harry's taken ill today, so I was at Hogwarts by myself."

"Inventory? Is that a Muggle word?" Lavender's mother frowned at her rudeness, but Lavender pointedly ignored her as she took several sandwiches off of a tray. Hermione decided to ignore her tone also.

"I have no idea. It means to check someplace and make a record of what is there. Kingsley has asked us to go through several locations." Hermione figured that if Kingsley knew what a word meant, then other wizards should to.

"So what did you inventory at Hogwarts?" Lavender asked while putting Teddy into his high chair. There seemed to be less attitude in this question. Hermione thought for a moment. There was nothing particularly confidential about her recent mission. She might as well answer.

"Snape's quarters, but there wasn't much to do. Everything of note had already been removed."

"Who removed it?" This time Lavender's question seemed genuinely curious. That was progress.

"That's the thing. No one knows. His rooms were sealed as soon as he abandoned his post. Somehow, most of his things still disappeared."

"Did he have children?" Mr. Brown asked. Hermione started, both because she hadn't realized Mr. Brown had even been listening, but also because the question seemed so odd.

"Not that I . . . I'm pretty sure that he didn't. May I ask, why that would be important?"

"I was just thinking that when my father passed, the items that he had specifically left to me, things like his cigar collection and a rare bottle of aged fire whiskey, instantly appeared on my dining room table. This chap you're talking about, you did say he'd died?"

"Yes. . . . I suppose I should ask Professor McGonagall if she's absolutely certain that he didn't have children."

"You never know." With that Mr. Brown disappeared behind his paper again, taking a small sandwich with him.

They all ate in silence for a few moments. Hermione was just beginning to feel uncomfortable, when Mrs. Tonks said "Mrs. Brown is quite the gardener. She's going to be helping me to revive our little herb garden. I'm afraid I've let it be quite ignored."

Hermione almost pointed out that late summer wasn't the best time for planting, then stopped herself as she realized that there would be spells for that. She wondered if they'd be planting any wolfsbane, but didn't ask because she didn't want to set Lavender off again. With all the thoughts she had, then kept from saying, she wondered if she was beginning to seem quite simple.

"I think we should plant some flowers as well as the usual herbs." The welcome subject caused Mrs. Brown to perk up quite a bit. "Not everything has to be for a potion."

"No, of course not. Some of the herbs will be useful in the kitchen as well, and flowers will cheer up the whole house."

Just then a statue of a winged horse which stood in a corner of the porch cleared its throat and announced "Miss Lovegood and Miss Jones approach." Hermione was so startled she spilled some of her tea.

"I'm sorry dear. I should've warned you that we have an unusual system here for announcing guests. As we've never had house elves we've learned to adapt different methods. This is Peg." The statue bowed in greeting, then resumed its frozen position, although it did occasionally flick its tail.

Hermione's study of the horse was broken off when Luna and Hestia joined them.

"Oh, I'm so glad we're eating on the porch. The cherry plums remind me of home, even if they don't have very interesting powers. Hermione! What a surprise!" Luna hurried around the table to hug Hermione. As she drew away, Hermione plucked something out of her hair, which appeared to be a small concrete fragment. "Oh, I forgot to clean up after the skirmish." She did a quick 'scourgify' then said, "by the time we got there spells were flying everywhere."

"Did you see Neville? I heard he hurt his shoulder," Hermione leaned forward. Mrs. Tonks paused as she poured more tea.

"Yes," Hestia Jones sat across from Lavender. "He was zooming around the underground on his broom, and did the most brilliant move to dodge a curse. He grabbed a sign post and whipped around it, but apparently the sudden change of direction dislocated his shoulder."

"Anyone else injured?" Mrs. Tonks asked.

"We thought there would be so many Muggle deaths, but Healer Pye was just telling us that they found that most of them were just unconscious. There were, unfortunately, a dozen dead, but we'd thought it'd be much worse. They did have a lot of bumps and scrapes, and few had head injuries from falling or having something fall on them. They were going to have to obliviate quite a few people though."

Luna had taken the meat out of a sandwich and wrapped it around the bread before she started eating. "I saw this elderly Muggle man hit with a killing curse, then when I looked back, he was up and hobbling off. I don't think that their Avada Kedavras are working right. They never do when the whinging whipplesnaps are around."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"We'll need to plant plenty of lovage. It's used in so many potions, and adds a wonderful touch to chicken soup," Mrs. Brown said, apparently trying to divert the conversation.

"Are you going to be staying a while Hermione? I do hope it won't be awkward." Luna said.

Hermione frowned. She wasn't sure what that meant, so she just answered Luna's question. "I'm going to go through some of the unused rooms after lunch, do a bit of an inventory."

"Oh, I'll help. That sounds like fun."

Lavender had already finished one roast beef sandwich, and was reaching for another. "What do you mean by awkward?"

Hermione had the impression that Lavender was hoping things _would be_ uncomfortable. She and Lavender hadn't been the best of friends, but the hostility from her was amazing.

"Have you ever grown hellebore, Andromeda? I've heard the flowers are lovely." Mrs. Brown spoke with an unnaturally bright voice, and smiled at Andromeda.

"I'm partial to the purple blossoms myself," answered Andromeda.

Luna began taking the inside out of another sandwich to wrap it around the outside. Without taking her eyes off of her work she said "You know awkward because you used to date Ron, Hermione's dating him now, and I'm hoping to date him as soon as he and Hermione call it off. Well, probably after giving him some time to recover."

Hermione was glad she hadn't taken a big bite of her tiny sandwich. She did choke on it, but only for a moment. She looked at Luna to see if she was joking but, of course, she wasn't.

"Nice to know the progression's all lined up then," smirked Lavender.

"I think I'll definitely be planting a couple varieties of dittany." Mrs. Brown looked at Mrs. Tonks.

"Yes, that'll be lovely. So will you girls all be helping Hermione this afternoon?"

"I can't – I've got Dursley duty tonight," Hestia said as she folded her napkin, and stood to go. "Thanks for the lunch. I love your cucumber sandwiches."

"I've got to . . . ." Lavender started, but Luna cut her off.

"Oh, do come Lavender. I know you've got a thing against Hermione, but you and I get along just fine and once you get to know Hermione you'll see that she's really not that arrogant and she doesn't get her way _all _the time."

Lavender shrugged and shook her head, but her face slipped into an almost smile.

Hermione couldn't decide if she should be offended or laugh, so she just stood and said "Let's get to it then."

"Luna," Andromeda said, "You know where the room is. Can you show them?"

"Certainly."

As they headed down a long hallway, which was filled with a mixture of moving and unmoving paintings, Luna walked in front with Hermione just behind. Lavender lagged so far behind that Hermione thought she might've changed her mind about coming, but she followed nonetheless.

"By the way," said Luna, looking over her shoulder, "the answer is pigeons."

"Excuse me?" Hermione had forgotten just how bizarre conversation with Luna could be. "The answer to what?"

"To your orphanage problem. We were discussing it over pudding with Professor McGonagall last night, and in the middle of the night I realized the answer is pigeons, maybe a few squirrels, but mostly pigeons." With that, she stopped at a set of carved doors, waved her wand, said "Alohamora," and led them in.

It was after dinner when Hermione finally got back to Grimmauld Place. She flooed into the parlour, but headed toward the kitchen right away. Andromeda had sent up sandwiches as Hermione had tried desperately to get through Lupin and Tonk's quarters, but she'd been too distracted to eat much. She was starving, plus the kitchen was where the boys seemed to always end up.

Sure enough Harry and Ron were plowing through generous servings of Molly's meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Hermione grabbed a plate.

"Harry, I had no idea what an efficient partner you were, until I had to deal with Luna and Lavender."

Ron laughed. "Talk about herding kneazels."

"No kidding. Luna stopped to study every book, examine every magical instrument, or she just sat on the floor and prattled. Lavender wasn't really interested in helping and instead just encouraged Luna to dawdle over everything. Have either of you talked to Lavender lately? She seems really hostile."

"So how much did you get through?" Harry had piled the potatoes on his meatloaf, but at least he paused between bites for conversation.

"I see you're feeling better," Hermione chuckled. Harry and Ron exchanged a look that let her know that Ron knew she'd caught Harry out. "I barely got through half of the professor's office and it looks like Tonks has at least as much."

"Really?" Ron asked. "I wouldn't have thought they had that much. I still don't see why you need to do pack up their stuff. Even if Andromeda doesn't have house elves she's good enough with spells that she should have been able to clean it up in an hour."

"Ron, I think it's still too sad for Andromeda to even go in there, but I'm not just packing. I have to look through everything to see what we can use, what might have hidden properties."

"Oh? Did they have any good stuff?"

"Amazing. Professor Lupin must have the largest collection of books on werewolves that I've ever seen. Then I found a stack of his journals, but I couldn't read them. The pages appear blank, except that they were bursting with magic. I bet there's a ton of fascinating . . . ."

A door slammed loudly down the hall, followed by the harsh tones of a deep baritone cursing.

"That sounds like Kingsley," said Ron. The noise awoke Mrs. Black who started in with "Filth! All of . . . ." but that was as far as she got. A spell cracked through the hall and she was silent. A moment later the front door slammed.

"Wow," whispered Hermione. "I wonder what happened."

"I wonder what spell he used to shut the harpy up," Harry said.

The kitchen door swung open and Bill came in, then slumped into the closest chair. The others exchanged wide-eyed looks. Harry jerked his head at Ron, encouraging him to ask what they were all wondering.

"Um . . . problem with the interrogation?" he finally asked.

Bill's head jerked up. He seemed surprised to see them all staring at him. "You could say that." He got up from the table and went over to the stove to pour himself a cup of tea. Once again, silence loomed. Ron seemed reluctant to try again, so Harry jumped in.

"Can you tell us?"

"Yeah, sure. It's not like it's top secret information. In fact, the problem is we got no information. Not a thing."

Hermione looked over at Ron and Harry. The shock on their faces mirrored her own. "No wonder Shacklebolt was mad," she said softly.

"Yeah, it started off with this jerk, Rowle is his name, mouthing off, saying all sorts of stuff, clearly just trying to make us mad. Kingsley was amazing, totally calm, none of it bothered him. Rowle went on and on about how great Flat Face is, how smart, how powerful. He claimed no one can fight him, no one can hide anything from his legilimency."

Hermione shuddered. That couldn't be true or her Death Eater contact wouldn't still be alive. Still she wondered, how good of an occlumens was he?

"Rowle is one twisted creep. He bragged about the Muggles they've killed, bragged about how they . . . ." He paused, looking at Hermione, clearly uncomfortable.

"Bill, you don't have to protect me. I saw the bodies Charlie found across the street. I know what they do."

"Yeah, I know. It's just unbelievable to hear somebody who thinks that's talent, that's some kind of skill. He was probably telling the truth, judging from those poor Muggles. Actually, I guess we know he was telling the truth since we gave him veritaserum and that didn't slow him down at all. He claims that old Moldy Parts has even found a way to beat the Avada Kedavra. I could tell Kingsley was interested in that part. He asked him if the other Death Eaters have also been taught how to beat it. Before he could answer something weird happened with his Dark Mark. It started moving and glowing green. It was like his arm came alive. Rowle started clutching as his arm and laughing like a maniac. I thought maybe he'd flipped out, then he went on this rant about all the magic that Creepy Snake has invented, how we'd never understand his wonderful pureblood magic, all this garbage. Kingsley just rolled his eyes – waiting him out I guess, and then all of a sudden . . . poof! He was gone."

"Gone?" Ron asked. "What do you mean gone?"

"He disappeared, ropes and all."

"That's impossible. There are wards. You can't apparate in or out of here." Hermione was already running the possibilities through her mind. Had he wandlessly disillusioned himself? Had he confounded them?

"But he did. Kingsley was as shocked as I was. He did a quick _homenem revelio_ – nothing. The room was still locked. We still have Rowle's wand. None of it makes any sense." He sat back and took a long sip of his tea, staring at the wall.

The front door slammed, and again they heard Mrs. Black begin to yell and then be silenced with a sharp crack. A moment later Kingsley entered.

"Good evening." Only those who knew him well would pick up the edge to his voice. "I hate to disturb you, but I've called an emergency meeting. It appears our security here may be in jeopardy."

Thirty minutes later, nearly the whole Order of the Phoenix was stuffed into the kitchen debating whether or not Rowle's disappearance meant that Grimmauld Place was no longer safe. The theories and suppositions flew fast and furious, but no one actually knew what had happened. Hermione let her mind wander and began to make lists. An hour later, Hermione had a theory of what had happened. When she couldn't get anyone at the meeting to listen, she decided to wait and discuss it with Harry and Ron.

One hour and twenty minutes later, Harry, Ron and Hermione left the chaos of the after meeting and headed upstairs to the boys' room. Harry was stomping and, after they entered the room, slammed the door loudly enough to set off Mrs. Black downstairs.

"This is ridiculous! I'm stuck here and now they're not even going to let Ginny visit until we figure this whole thing out. What if we never figure it out? Why can't anyone do the Fidelius anymore? What's wrong with these people?"

Ron and Hermione knew to let Harry rant a bit. They watched as he stomped around the room. Finally, he wore himself out and came to sit on the floor with the others.

"So. Fine. I'm done. Am I wrong? Are we ever going to be able to find out what happened?"

"No, mate. You're completely right. This whole thing is screwed up," muttered Ron as he pulled the end of the throw rug apart. Every few minutes either he or Hermione would magically reweave it and then he would start over again.

"Well, Harry, I don't know." Hermione chewed on her lower lip, trying to decide whether to throw her idea out there.

"Come on, Hermione, you've already got a theory. What is it?" Ron asked. She couldn't tell if he was amused or annoyed. She decided not to worry about it and to plunge right in.

"I just think we should focus on why did Rowle's arm glow. What did that mean? That's obviously the best clue we have."

"But how do we focus on that? Do you think we can find a book on "Glowing Arm Tattoos" that'll explain it all for us?"

"I don't recall seeing any books like that, but I do remember . . . ." She paused. She really should have told them about what she saw before, but there had been so much going on the day of the Battle at Hogwarts that at first it had slipped her mind. Later, she had remembered, but then she didn't say anything because she felt . . . strange about it.

"Out with it." Ron had never been very subtle.

"It's just that I've seen a dark mark glow like that before. I saw it happen back at Hogwarts, at the battle, and it . . . it was just before he disappeared, just before all the Death Eaters disappeared. I'm sure there's a connection."

"You lost me, Hermione. Just before who disappeared?"

Why was she so uncomfortable talking to them about this? Why did she know that Ron was going to react badly?

"At the battle, just after you reappeared Harry, I saw Malfoy. He was still over on our side, standing apart from the rest of us, but I thought . . . ." He'd looked at her and she'd been certain that he was going to join them, going to help them. When she first saw him it had been right after they'd seen Harry's body, but he hadn't been smiling. He'd looked almost as devastated as she felt. She knew he didn't want Voldemort to win. Then, when Harry had suddenly appeared, alive and fighting, she'd seen his face. It was alight with hope. She'd been distracted, focused back on the battle. It was only a few minutes later that she heard him cry out, a cry of pain, mingled with something else – fear? Despair? She found him again and he was staring, wide-eyed, in horror as his own arm writhed, glowing with a lurid green, and then he was gone. So were the rest of them.

She couldn't explain all of that to Ron and Harry. Or she didn't want to. So she skipped to the crucial part.

"I saw Malfoy. I saw his arm glow and move, just like Bill said. Just after that he disappeared. They all did. But the thing is I saw his face. He was surprised, shocked even. He hadn't known that would happen. He didn't know what it meant. That's why I think . . . ."

"You heard what Bill said, Hermione. That Rowle guy knew exactly what was going on. He was mocking them." Ron was glaring at the rug.

"Of course he would know now. This wasn't the first time it had happened. That was at the battle, at Hogwarts, at least for Malfoy that was the first time."

"Since when are you so cozy with Malfoy?" spat Ron.

Hermione gave an exaggerated sigh and held her head in her hands. "Ron. Don't be like that. I'm just telling you what I saw."

"So the rest of us were fighting and you were just ogling Malfoy."

Hermione started to answer, then changed her mind and stood up. "That's enough. That's enough, Ron. I'm done." With that she walked out of the room, went straight to her room, magically locked the door and sealed it against sound. She knew he'd be sitting there trying to figure out exactly what she meant by that.

The same thing that she was trying to figure out.  
******************************

**AN – Special thanks to Hesaluti for her lovely recommendation (and, of course, for her fantastic beta'ing)! Welcome to all of you who've recently found this story. I love to hear from you. And thank you for your patience. The Dramione is coming.**


	11. Chapter 11 - Seeking

11 – Seeking

Draco needed to hurry – he couldn't be late for his first meeting of the Dark Lord's inner circle. He pulled out his pocket watch and squeezed it lightly to pop open the case. He still had a few minutes to spare, time to apparate over to the summer cottage to check Hyacinth's portrait to see if there'd been any response yet. The picture was tucked away in a corner of an odd little nook in the small family library, which he had now taken over as his office. He arrived in the living room, then hurried upstairs to his office. As soon as he glanced at it he could see that there was nothing - no response to his last message yet – both because the vase hadn't changed, but also because Hyacinth was staring off into the distance, refusing to meet his eyes.

Even though he didn't have much time, she knew he was here, he had to at least greet her. "Good day, Hyacinth."

She didn't turn, but muttered icily "Miss Black to you."

He bowed in obeisance. "Of course, my apologies." He was careful not to let her see his mouth twitch as he held back a smile. She loved being offended, and loved scolding him even more. Of course, it would be no fun if she knew he knew that.

At first she had been so difficult to get along with, that Draco had begun looking for some other way to pass messages to the Order. He now knew that there were Order members living in Grimmauld Place. Since Hyacinth was a Black the other portrait through which he sent his messages was probably also there. How many places could have Order members and Black portraits? However, when he had visited Grimmauld Place as a child he'd recognized many of the portrait inhabitants as the same ones in Malfoy Manor. In fact, there were portraits of his mother at both houses. So he could find someone else with portraits in both houses. The problem was the vase. It was perfect and it appeared along with Hyacinth in both houses, which was unusual. He wasn't sure if the painting was the same or not – Hyacinth would be offended at such a personal question – and it didn't matter anyway.

So he'd turned his efforts to getting along with her better. They didn't have to be chums, but he couldn't have her working against him. He wasn't sure if she hated all men in general, all Malfoy men, or him in particular. He hadn't had time yet to research her history; he actually wasn't sure where to look for such information. The other portraits would probably love to provide him with such gossip, but they weren't particularly reliable and if Hyacinth found out he'd been discussing her with the others, she'd be furious.

Hyacinth glanced back over her shoulder to see if he was still there. When he caught her looking at him she turned toward him a bit. "Can I help you? Are you planning to just stare at the vase until a new message appears?" Draco started to give her a snappy comeback, then decided to play on his apparently pathetic state.

He gave an exaggerated sigh. "No, there's nothing . . . I'll just go. It's just that . . . ." He looked off into space, knowing that her curiosity would get the better of her.

He waited . . . wait . . .wait . . . .

"You could send another message," she said, her voice now gentle as though she was cheering a small child.

"I don't know . . . . if they don't want to help . . . . but the orphans . . . ."

"I'm sure they want to help." Hyacinth was smart enough, and careful enough, to avoid saying "he" or "she." That was interesting. "Maybe I could ask . . . see what's been keeping them."

"Could you?" He didn't have to fake the enthusiasm in his voice. He was actually dying for a return message. He still had no idea how he could minimize the carnage at the orphanage when he wouldn't be given much notice as to which orphanage it was to be. He also was tired of feeling like he was in this battle alone.

"I'll see what I can do." With that she resumed her haughty pose. Draco glanced at his pocket watch. He'd better get going.

Draco apparated back to his room at the Manor. He looked in the mirror one last time, he needed to keep up the Malfoy image, glanced at his watch, swore, and hurried out, slowing his steps so that he wouldn't slip on the polished white marble. He averted his face as he passed the music room, then realized what a coward he was being and forced himself to look. The piano was as beautiful as ever, huge and dark, dominating the pale sea greens of the drapes and rugs. The physical urge to touch it was so powerful that he had to draw a deep breath. He hadn't played since his mother . . . . She had always loved to listen to him play. She'd be disappointed if he stopped. Maybe tomorrow. Tonight there wasn't time.

He needed to mentally prepare for the inner circle meeting. It was a bit surprising that they hadn't met more often, but then again, the fewer psychotic meetings he had to attend the better. Unlike full Death Eater meetings, this one would not be taking place in the Dark Lord's mysterious cave, but rather at the LeStrange mansion, which was a relief for many reasons. He also had been summoned by owl rather than pulled by his Mark. He wouldn't have to endure the stifling closeness of that reeking cave. The best thing though, was that he could travel by broom. Any day where he could work in a long flight was a better day.

"Oh, no, Cyrus, you're wrong. I have never wasted a moment waiting for . . . ."

Draco drew up short. Not tonight. His father was in the foyer, apparently chatting with one of the portraits. He didn't have time for this. If he went back out through the kitchen he could summon his broom, but then he'd have Nappy questioning him, offering him food to take, that would be just as slow. Better to just deal with his father as quickly as possible. He braced himself and walked purposefully around the corner.

"Draco! Excellent." Lucius stood, gloves in hand, wearing white full dress robes, leaning insolently against a statue of Venus. At least at the moment he was clean. "Then we're all ready as soon as Narcissa gets . . . but what are you wearing? That will never do. You know the Winter Ball is strictly white tie. Spinks!" An elderly house elf appeared. "Help Master Draco get changed. We can't be late."

"Father . . . ." He couldn't argue. He didn't have time to try to peel back his father's delusions, if it could even be done. "Spinks," Draco looked at the elf and saw the sadness in his eyes, "I'll take care of it. Just a moment."

He stepped back around the corner and quickly transfigured his robes, turning them white, giving himself a black silk cravat. He was missing the details - the cufflinks, the waistcoat, the shirt studs - which his father would notice immediately. He summoned his best cloak, wrapped it around himself, then strode back into the hall.

"Father," it was better not to let him get going, "I'll see to the carriage." He breathed more easily once he was past him, his hand on the doorknob.

"Your mother will be down momentarily," said Lucius. "I'll bring her out. I called for the white coach. See that it is clean."

"Of course." Draco stepped onto the porch, feeling great relief as the large doors shut behind him. He had escaped. He summoned his broom and was off.

It was a beautiful evening, sky just beginning to darken, but Draco felt such a heavy sadness that he was almost surprised that his broom could still lift him. Seeing his father was always difficult, but somehow tonight . . . .

There was so much that was gone, never to return. So much had been destroyed. The Winter Ball had always been so magnificent – all the guests in white, against the evergreen of the sparkling two-story Christmas tree. When he was a child the pureblood lifestyle had been so full of wonder, of grace, of beauty. He could remember sipping his first fire whiskey as he listened to the ladies titter over someone who'd had the temerity to wear a gown with a scarlet bow at the back – scandalous. His mother, always radiant in white, added her own bit of color in the copious rubies and gold around her neck, but jewels were an acceptable touch of hue.

He went to those balls knowing that he was supposed to find a wife who knew what to wear, how to stand out among the many diamonds, without being ever tacky or garish. Just like his father, he'd be expected to cluck over how she'd spent a small fortune on her dress, subtly mentioning how the prices in Paris just went up and up.

How could all of that just be gone? When did the Dark Lord's mania turn from preserving the pure and elegant to destroying – and not just Muggles and mudbloods. Half-bloods had to go, purebloods who associated with the wrong sorts, anyone who was not sufficiently vicious in their hatred of the inferior. Until there was nothing worth saving – the old families were decimated, hiding their wives and daughters abroad if they could. No one held balls anymore. The opera had closed, supposedly to reopen after the unpleasantness, but who would be left to attend? In exchange for all of that splendor, they'd gotten the dank, grey cave.

The Malfoy line, the proud, storied family whose innumerable portraits filled the halls of the manor, was down to two – an insane patriarch and himself. How long until it was gone forever? It could be tonight or any night. The manor would be left, invisible to all living, crumbling until some banker broke through the enchantments to see what, if anything, was left.

A slight buzz of magic signalled that he'd flown through the wards of the LeStrange mansion – another old family down to its last demented few. There'd be no more LeStranges either. Aunt Bella was never the motherly type. Lately, it was hard to see the death of that line as a bad thing.

He'd always found their house cold – grey granite that echoed, elegant rooms that never greeted guests - a place for Death Eater meetings, but never evenings of fine food and conversation. He stepped up to the door and waited for . . . a sheet of ice water soaked him!

"Bloody hell! What the . . . ."

The door opened and Aunt Bella herself stood there grinning. "It's a thieves' downfall. Security precaution." Her leer widened. "I guess you must be the real thing."

Draco scowled at her as he dried himself and then cast an extra warming spell. He smirked to realize that his robes were back to normal. He'd forgotten the transfiguration he'd done. Better not to have to explain that away.

"Where'd you get that charming little addition?" he asked.

"Ironically enough – I stole it." Her face lit with a grin that reminded Draco of long ago when she used to be fun. She was always game to sneak out at night to race brooms or such. She had a sadistic streak even then, banging into him, trying to knock him off his broom and enjoying it a bit too much if she did, but it hadn't yet taken her over. It had been the Dark Lord's corrupting touch that had pushed her over the edge.

"Sulking? You're just jealous that you can't add any fun touches to the Manor."

He knew what she was referring to, in her underhanded way. "Our security is just fine."

"You'd better hope it is. You're not the master of the Manor. There's nothing you can do."

"I'm aware. Fortunately, the Manor has long had enchantments few can even comprehend."

"That must be why the Dark Lord moved his operations elsewhere." Draco's eyes jerked to a motion down the dark hallway. It was either Rodolphus or Rabastan slinking away from the meeting where they weren't welcome.

Draco looked back at his aunt, who had stopped before a set of tall dark double doors. "The Dark Lord's reasons are his own. Perhaps he enjoys the quirky hospitality you provide." He threw her a final smirk as they entered the drawing room. She shot one back at him, before simpering over to the Dark Lord, who was gazing into the fire. He turned to them, his eyes still reflecting the red of the flames.

"Draco."

Draco bowed his head and returned the greeting. "My Lord." There was a table in the room, but the Dark Lord was standing, and so, apparently would they.

"It is time for me to share with you, the two of you, my most valued inner circle, the next step, the final step in my plan. I have conquered mortality from both sides now. I can return after death and the death curse, the famed Avada Kedavra can no longer harm me. So now it is time to seek Potter, to find Potter and to kill him. Then we can destroy all of those who have dared defy me."

It was all about killing, all about destroying, mostly other wizards. Draco held his face impassive.

"How will we do it, my Lord? What do you want us to do?" Aunt Bella's eyes were rabid with excitement.

"We draw him out. His greatest weakness is his soft heart. He's a muggle-lover of the most filthy kind. So, as we did the other day, we go after the muggles. We terrorize them, we kill them. I had the bodies of the muggles we tortured to death the other day left on the ground near where we know some of the Order members stay. He will not be able to bear being responsible for such suffering. He will seek us out."

Draco bit the inside of his lip. He wanted to ask what would be different the next time from the attack on the Underground. If Potter hadn't been there, why would he show up the next time? Personally, he wouldn't be surprised if Potter was there, shooting curses from under his invisibility cloak. If Draco was feeling suicidal he could ask the Dark Lord how he planned to kill Potter when they did find him. If the Avada Kedavra hadn't worked on him before, what would he use?

But he wasn't going to ask any of these questions. The Dark Lord did not like being questioned. He preferred . . . .

The invasion came without any warning. The force of it was enough to make Draco's head snap back a bit. The Dark Lord was in his mind. Draco calmed himself. If the Dark Lord wanted to see his questions he could. Draco pulled his memories of the Underground attack forward – both to show the Dark Lord where Potter could have been hiding, but also because the sight of so many muggles screaming in terror or dead on the ground would be pleasing, and distracting, to him.

The Dark Lord probed no further. "Draco, my son, you have been called into this circle because I trust you. I welcome your ideas, and your questions."

Draco bowed his head. "My Lord. Forgive me. I am not used to such privilege." He couldn't show any fear. Slowly, firmly, he looked up and straight into the Dark Lord's glowing red eyes. They were repulsive, but he refused to look away.

"You think that Potter may have been using his invisibility cloak? That he may already have been appearing to combat our attacks."

"It would fit with his personality, my Lord. He does not like to let others fight for him."

"You think the order would allow that."

"I don't know, my Lord. Although he does have a cloak."

"His invisibility cloak? It is a powerful one?"

"As far as I can tell, my Lord."

"Very interesting. So how to flush him out?"

"Judging from the numbers, they haven't been sending everyone they have."

The Dark Lord nodded.

"My Lord?" Aunt Bella's voice was eager, again.

"Bellatrix. You have an idea?"

"We need to set a trap. Lure a bunch of them somewhere and seal them there."

The Dark Lord was silent for a moment. He held his hands up, finger-tip to finger-tip. "If we capture enough of them, he will come to us. Draco?"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"You were at school with Potter. You have watched him. You know how he works, how he thinks better than any of us. You know who his friends are, who his girlfriends are. I have a special assignment for you."

"Yes, my Lord?" Draco ignored the clenching in his stomach. He knew where this was going.

"I want you to bring me Harry Potter."

Draco landed gracefully on the front steps of Malfoy Manor. Even the feeling of the open air as he flew home hadn't been enough to ease his headache or to get rid of the hideous feeling of being closed in. The Dark Lord wanted him to raid an orphanage and kill innocent children. He wanted Draco to capture one of those nearest to Harry Potter's heart and torment them until Potter couldn't take it anymore and came to them.

He couldn't do these things, but he couldn't see any way around them either. He had asked for help and gotten nothing. He was doomed. He just didn't know what form his destruction would take, when it would hit.

Nappy met him in the foyer, wordlessly holding out his hands for Draco's broom and cloak.

"Master is tired. Master need supper?"

"Yes, Nappy. Send it to my office. I have work to do." It was time to figure out how to handle this orphanage thing. He'd heard the Dark Lord's excitement; the assignment would come any day now. His only hope was that the Dark Lord was also looking forward to a raid, another recruitment raid, this one at St. Mungo's. Maybe it would come first. This time Mulciber would be in charge. He was fairly bright. He might be able to pull it off. His biggest problem was that he was so blood thirsty he was likely to be distracted. Still, he'd do better than MacNair, who had died from the festering of the wounds he suffered in the attack on the Underground, wounds that the Dark Lord had not allowed any of them to heal.

That wasn't how Draco wanted to go. Honestly, he hadn't heard a way that he wanted to go yet, but that wasn't it.

He reached his office and sat down at his desk. He'd come up with a plan and send it, in simple runes, to the Order. Tonight. He began a list of books he'd need, anything that might, somehow, have something that could be useful.

"Master, your supper."

Nappy was there – a tray with sandwiches and cold milk in hand. There was also a smaller glass, one with a familiar pearlescent potion in it. Draco frowned at it, then quirked his eyebrows at Nappy, asking silently if that was what he thought it was.

"Master should drink. Mistress told Nappy to bring some for Master. Master should drink."

Draco hesitated. He wanted it. His head was aching, his whole body was so tired. The amorita would help. How like his mother to leave him some of the precious potion. Still, he hesitated to drink the precious potion. There was only so much of it left. If he drank it, it would run out all the sooner.

"Master? Master needs his strength."

Nappy had a point. He could be dead tomorrow. Then what was he saving it for? He reached for the small glass.

He took a sip and had to lean back in his chair. The pleasure was so intense. It was as if his mother was back, here with him, encouraging him, holding him, helping him through all of this.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, just enjoying the feeling of the amorita washing through him. Finally, he opened his eyes. Nappy was gone. His supper was left on the desk. He could do this. He just needed to get to work.

It was almost an hour later when he took the list of books up to the library. Nappy would've been happy to get them for him, but he needed to stretch his legs if he wanted to stay awake. He was so tired.

He'd just entered the library when he heard it.

"_Mr. Malfoy?"_

His head jerked up from the list he'd been perusing. Had he just heard someone calling his name?

"_Mr. Malfoy?"_

He looked around. Great. His father was already insane. His aunt was crazy. It figured his mind was starting to slip. He had it coming from both sides of the family.

"_MR. MALFOY!"_

He was sure he heard something. He went to look. Maybe he was losing his mind, but he wasn't going to get any work done until he checked on this. The sound seemed to be coming from deep in the library. He looked around for a house elf. No one.

Then he peeked at the portrait, Hyacinth's portrait. She had turned and was looking straight at him, a somewhat desperate look in her wide eyes.

"Mr. Malfoy. There you are. I've been waiting for hours. You have a message, a long message."

He didn't know what was the greater relief – that she was actually calling him, he wasn't hearing voices that weren't there, or that there was a return message. At last. He looked – the vase was covered, top to bottom, with fairly small runes. This wasn't just a message. It was an epic. He flipped his list over and started writing on the back of it, then called Nappy to get him more parchment. He was so excited that he translated some of the words as he went, leaving the more unfamiliar ones to look up when he had it all down.

More than two hours later he set down his quill. His body was more tired than ever, but his soul felt light. Whoever it was – his contact – had heard him. He still didn't know if it was Granger or not. Maybe not since it'd taken so long to reply. His contact might have had to get someone else to help, that could be anyone. But maybe it was her. Maybe she'd just taken so long because she'd been working this all out. He headed back to his room, stopping off at his office to drop off his notes.

Why did he care anyway? Granger, Weasley and Potter were the only ones on the other side that he knew, not that he knew them any more than they knew him. For some reason Granger intrigued him. The other two were dunderheads who just charged in wherever they went without thinking. Potter must've been bathed in Felix Felicis when he was born, otherwise he'd never had made it this far. Weasley was such an oaf, Potter probably just kept him around to make himself look good. He laughed as reached his room and took a quick drink of water from the basin on the dresser.

Granger was smart though. If she was in Slytherin she would've known to conceal the power of her brain so others wouldn't suspect that she was always two steps ahead of them. Instead, in true Gryffindor fashion, she never held back, and seemed to get very little from her two sidekicks in exchange for her help in the classroom and out of it. Did she ever notice that he wondered as he changed out of his robes into his pajamas.

He'd always wondered if she played the piano. She had very graceful hands, though they were stronger than they looked. He smirked at the memory. At the time he'd been furious. Hitting him like that, in front of Crabbe and Goyle, could have made them doubt him. He hadn't known what to do. His mother would skin him alive if he ever laid hands on a woman, mudblood or not. So he'd taken off and made up some story that he'd provoked her on purpose, that he'd keep the memory in a pensieve and threaten to show the Headmaster if he ever needed to rein her in. Luckily, they not only bought it, but thought he was crafty as ever. Of course, they forgot all about it and never noticed that he'd done no such thing.

If Granger was his contact, then maybe she'd have some clue how the Dark Lord could be killed, what to do, how to get to him. Of course, he'd have to ask first and he wasn't nearly ready for that. He got into bed and lay back, mind still too busy to sleep.

What mattered was that he wasn't alone. Someone had heard him. Not just heard him, but answered him with a plan, a brilliant plan. He'd been expecting, well, hoping for, some advice on what he should do. Instead, they'd given him a full plan, one where they, someone from the Order, would be doing the bulk of the work. Basically, all he had to do was show up, play his part, cover any gaps and they'd do the rest. Amazingly enough, this plan might actually work.


	12. Chapter 12 - Concealed

**Disclaimer – Not J.K. Rowling, not making any money off of this. **

12 – Concealed

Hermione took a sip of her tea – strong, black – and pressed her fingers into her temple. Why couldn't anything be easy? The sun was barely up, and already this day was more than she could handle.

She hadn't been able to sleep. The tension with Ron was unbearable. They needed to talk, to have it out really, but she couldn't figure out what to say to him. She sighed and took another sip of tea.

She turned back to Moody's book - 'They'll Never Find It: Hiding Things That Need to Stay Hidden.' She'd made no progress with Professor Lupin's journals yet and she was hoping something in this book would help. She'd already been dying to know what was in them, then, last night at dinner, Professor McGonagall had delivered a note to Harry from Hagrid: "Hallo Harry, In disperete neede for Wolfsbaine. Do you now were I cin find some?" Once they interpreted his atrocious spelling, Hermione had immediately thought of Lupin's diaries. If anyone would know where to find Wolfsbane, it would've been Professor Lupin. Ever since Greyback and his pack took up residence in the Forbidden Forest, a general search for a new source of Wolfsbane had been going on, with remarkably little luck.

Hermione had just turned to a new chapter - "Using Enlargement Spells to Create Hidden Compartments," when she was startled by the crack of house elf apparition. Kreacher appeared at her elbow, bearing something wrapped in an aqua green velvet cloth which was pressed between his hands, one flat on the bottom, one flat on the top.

"Kreacher is to be giving this to the Mudblood," he muttered, staring resolutely at his own hands.

"Excuse me?" Hermione didn't know what surprised her more – his appearance, the mysterious item clutched in his hands, or the fact that, despite his much-improved attitude, he still called her . . . that word.

"Kreacher is to be giving this to the Mudblood."

She started to reach for it, then drew her hand back. "Who told you to give me that?"

"Miss Black. Miss Black is saying it will be faster for delivering messages."

Hermione bit her lip. Hyacinth had sent this? She grabbed her wand, and quickly checked the item for dark magic, then checked it again for any magic. It glowed slightly the second time, showing that it was magical, but not dark. She could get Harry. He could order Kreacher to tell the truth, find out more about this item, but if it was from Hyacinth, then Harry wasn't supposed to know about the messages at all. She could wait for Kingsley, but he wouldn't be by until dinner tomorrow. She had so much to do today. It would be a huge help to have a quicker way to find out when new messages came in.

"Thank you, Kreacher," she said, reaching for the item again. Kreacher turned and carefully set it on the table. Was he just being his usual odd self or was he trying to avoid touching a "mudblood"? As soon as he'd set it down, he disappeared with another crack.

Hermione gingerly pulled back the cloth, revealing a heart-shaped locket. How would this help her get messages? Then she had an idea. She opened the locket and, sure enough, there was a picture of Hyacinth, although a very young Hyacinth, still in pigtails.

"Hi!" the locket girl said, waving and smiling.

"Hi," replied Hermione, then she looked up. She heard voices echoing down the hall. She shut the locket, slipped it around her neck and stuffed the cloth into her back pocket.

" . . . early in the morning for all that female drama. I'll talk to her after I've gotten some breakfast and a good cup of . . . ." Ron's voice halted abruptly as he and Harry entered the kitchen.

Hermione stared at him, then, without a word, pointedly returned to reading her book. She was so angry she had to make an effort not to rip the pages as she turned them.

"Um . . . 'morning, Hermione," Ron said.

"Up early today?" Harry asked, but she didn't respond. Both boys moved in silence as they poured themselves tea.

Eventually they found some leftover scones, and sat down. Ron finally said "Are you . . . angry or something?"

"Me, angry?" she snapped. "Don't worry, I have no interest in inflicting my "female drama" on you." She looked back at her book, but was completely unable to focus on the words. She decided she couldn't tolerate being in the same room with him, slapped her book shut, and stood up. "Harry, I'm going to need your cloak for an errand later." She had been hoping they'd go with her, but alone would work just as well.

She was almost out of the door, when Harry called her back. "Hermione, wait. Where do you need to go?"

"I was planning to go out and ogle Death Eaters."

"Come on, Hermione," Ron said. "I was just kidding about that."

"Just kidding? You think you can say anything you want to me, no matter how insulting, and if you say it's just a joke, then nothing's wrong."

"No, I didn't . . . well, I don't . . . ."

"I think you two need to talk," said Harry as he left the kitchen as fast as if he'd been on his Firebolt. Was he being perceptive or cowardly or both?

"He's right," Hermione said. Down the hall they heard Harry greeting someone who was approaching the kitchen. "Maybe we should go out in the garden."

Ron's face was the same color it'd been when he'd accidentally caused himself to vomit slugs, but he followed her. She sat down on the back stoop and Ron sat down next to her. Her anger seemed to vanish, and she felt incredibly tired. She bit her lip, fighting the burn of tears before she'd even said anything.

"This isn't working," she said softly, so softly she wondered if he'd even heard her, until she heard him sigh.

"I know."

What else needed to be said? What else could be said? They sat in silence, then they both spoke at once.

"I'm sorry. I don't know . . . ."

"I never thought things would be . . . ."

They both stopped and laughed nervously. "You go first," Hermione said.

"I just never thought things would seem so awkward. The whole world's so messed up. We can't go on any proper dates. I don't know what we're supposed to be doing."

"Me either. I was wondering . . . do you think we could just go back to the way things used to be?" Her head told her that wasn't possible, but surely things wouldn't get any worse.

"Yeah. I think maybe we should."

Hermione felt a strange sensation of physical lightness. She smiled and turned to Ron. "Friends?"

"Yeah," he nodded and she reached over to pull him into a hug. They both stood up, Hermione brushing the dust of the steps off of her pants.

"So why did you really want Harry's cloak?" Ron asked as they headed inside.

An hour and a half later, Hermione and Harry were pressed close together, both crouched down uncomfortably under his invisibility cloak, as they followed a brown haired Muggle down a London street. What they were doing was illegal, or at least it would've been illegal if they were still playing by the old Ministry rules. Illegal or not, Hermione had a strong feeling that confounding Muggles wasn't quite right.

The cloak was too small for all three of them now, so they'd left Ron at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, digging through boxes, gathering up things that could be useful, like shielding cloaks, bruise removal paste and extendable ears.

Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione were following a Muggle, 'Vern' according to his nametag. He was the man whose hair Bill had gotten for Harry's polyjuicing. Hermione had wanted to get some Muggle hair for herself, and Harry was running low on his. So the two of them had found the coffee shop where Vern worked and Hermione had confounded him to decide to go get a haircut, right away. Thankfully, Bill had chosen a Muggle with no shortage of hair and a haircut would make it easy to get a good supply.

Vern stepped into the first hair salon he encountered, a posh place full of black marble and orchids: "Transformations." Harry and Hermione slipped through the door behind him.

As Vern spoke to the receptionist, Hermione looked around for someone about her size. Just as Vern was chosen because he was close to Harry's size, Hermione wanted to avoid having to change clothes when she polyjuiced. Too tall, too fat, too thin: then, washing out a customer's hair, she spotted a black girl with lots of curls. She peeked down at her feet – not too little, not too big. Perfect. Hermione pointed the girl out to Harry.

"She's taller than you," Harry responded.

"Everyone's taller than me. She's pretty close." Hermione looked over at Vern. The salon had empty chairs and he was being escorted into one of them. She bit her lip. She'd have to do it again.

_"Confundo."_ The girl's hands stopped their efforts on her customer's hair. After a few seconds she rinsed her hands, turned off the water and walked over to two of her co-workers who were chatting near one of their stations.

"Hey, Allison. What's up?" One of them greeted her. Hermione smiled. Somehow it felt better to know the girl's name.

Two more confundus charms later, one of Allison's friends went to finish with the neglected customer and the other pointed the black girl into her chair and began cutting. Hermione saw Harry smile at her thoroughness, but she didn't want to cause any problems for their target's customer. The hair began to pile up on the floor near both chairs.

"We need a diversion," Hermione whispered to Harry. He nodded and pointed his wand at a large teal vase on the front desk. A moment later it sprung a leak, water began dripping all over the place and the receptionist cried out "Bloody . . ." then slapped her hand over her mouth, horrified and what she'd just shouted. Everyone in the salon turned to toward her, then several people jumped up to help her deal with the wayward water. .

Taking advantage of the distraction, Hermione performed two quick summoning charms, modified so that the hair slid across the floor until it disappeared under the cloak. She'd brought two small pouches and she quickly filled each. Harry frowned as she did two more confundus charms. Vern and Allison each asked for a tissue, which they used briefly, then slipped into a pocket. Hermione murmured two switching spells, then looked at Harry and said "Let's go."

After slipping outside Harry asked "What was that last bit, with the switching spells?"

"Oh, that. I switched some Muggle money with the tissues, you know, to pay for their haircuts." Harry smiled and shook his head. Hermione could have used another confundus and they wouldn't have had to pay, but that felt like theft.

Harry and Hermione hurried back to Diagon Alley, slipping into an alley to shed the invisibility cloak along the way. They joined Ron where he was gathering some supplies from the shuttered Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and their alibis were set.

The next problem was where to brew the potion. Nothing could be hidden in the busy kitchen. Harry was adamant that Ginny couldn't know anything about this so Hermione's bathroom was out. The boys' bathroom was their only real option.

Once she'd accepted this, Hermione made some alterations which made it tolerable. She put an undetectable expansion charm on the bathroom cabinet, so that the cauldron could be hidden away, and another on the counter to give herself plenty of working space. She created a hidden wall cabinet for ingredients, inspired by Mad-eye Moody's. After a week of unsuccessfully trying to get rid of the musty yuck smell, she was overjoyed when she came across a charm - "_Abolesco olere_" - that eliminated all smells from an area. It was actually sort of odd to be in a space that smelled of absolutely nothing, but far preferable to the alternative. It did have to be recast about once a day; she wondered if that was normal or if the decades old stench of a boys' bathroom was unusually persistent.

One afternoon, Hermione had her old copy of _Most Potente Potions_ out and was patiently adding the lacewing flies, which were finally done stewing. The door to the small bathroom flew open, Hermione instinctively steadied the cauldron. Ron poked his head in, his eyes alive with excitement.

"There's been an attack, on St. Mungo's. We gotta go!"

Hermione's heartbeat picked up. This would be the first time she'd been on a raid for months. She tossed the last of the flies into the potion and stirred them in. It only took her a few more minutes to hide everything away again. By the time she got into the boys' room, Harry was pulling on his trainers and Ron was ready to go. Harry looked up at her.

"Okay, Hermione and I will go to Andromeda's, make sure someone sees that we're there, go into Lupin's office and lock the door behind us. Then we'll floo into the Leaky Cauldron and apparate over.

Hermione glanced through her bag to make sure she had everything she needed. She'd packed with supplies days ago, waiting for the next attack.

"Sounds good. I gotta go. I can hear the others gathering downstairs." With that, Ron left. Harry nearly followed him, but Hermione pushed the door shut and shook her head.

"Wait a minute, Harry. If we want them to believe we're just going to Andromeda's we can't look like we're in too much of a hurry."

"Can we go now?" Harry asked, bouncing on the soles of his feet.

"Yeah, but we do need to make sure Mrs. Weasley sees us, so we can tell her where we're going. Let's use your cloak so we can wait on the landing until they're gone. Then I'll go into the kitchen and ask for some sandwiches so she'll see us."

"Where do I go?"

"You can come into the kitchen if you can be calm and not suspiciously hyper."

It only took an extra ten minutes and they were arriving in the floo of the Tonks' home. Mr. Brown was sitting in the parlour, reading his paper, so they greeted him and told him they'd be in Lupin's office. Hermione could hear activity outside on the porch, but she didn't want to see the others. They didn't have time to chat.

As they hurried through the hall, Hermione went over the day's plans, yet again. "Harry, we'll have to come straight back here. We've still got a lot of Professor Lupin's things to catalogue."

"We'll have to make sure we don't have the 'help' of Ginny, Lavender and Luna, then. You hardly got through anything the other day." Harry seemed more amused than annoyed. It took a lot to interfere with Hermione's efficiency.

"No, although part of that was me not wanting everyone to see his more . . . sensitive things. Part of it was we all got distracted into discussing how to handle an orphanage attack. And they did help me come up with a plan. I just hope it falls into the 'it's so crazy it just might work' realm."

"Me, too." Harry's voice had gotten grim. The thought of what would happen if it didn't work was hard to dwell on.

"I have some ideas to try to open his cabinets. I'm still not sure what to do about the journals." The books were being added to the Black family library – the regular one upstairs, Hermione only took a few down to her private library since it was already crowded enough. The various magical items usually ended up being stored at Hogwarts where there was more room.

"I just wish we could figure out his passwords. Tonks probably knew them, but she . . . ."

As they entered Lupin's office, Hermione spied a note, addressed to "Harry & Hermione," in delicate penmanship on the desk. It was from Andromeda. She bit her lip. They didn't need any more complications.

_"Harry & Hermione - I believe I may have the answer to Remus's security. Come see me when you get in – Andromeda." _

"Great," sighed Hermione.

Harry already had his polyjuice flask out. "Just do it when we get back."

"No, we can't. We have to make sure they believe we've been here the whole time." She bit her lip. Was there any plausible reason why they'd wait a couple of hours before going to see Andromeda? Not really. "Look, you go. I'll go talk to her, then catch up with you." There was no way Harry could talk to her without making her suspicious. He was so jumpy that he hadn't been able to stay in the kitchen and make small talk with Mrs. Weasley and he'd only gotten worse since they left.

"Hermione, that's not fair. I'll come with you." It clearly took an effort for Harry to say that. She was glad that he'd at least offered.

"No. That'd just slow us down. You go. St. Mungo's is huge. There'll be plenty left for me to do."

On her way downstairs Hermione took deep breaths and tried to think calming thoughts. She was fairly antsy, too. Then she remembered – this was actually exciting news. Perhaps not on the same scale as going to St. Mungo's to fight Death Eaters, but Andromeda would expect her to be enthusiastic about finding a way to get through Professor Lupin's security.

Andromeda was probably out on the porch. The weather had been chilly lately, but she was good with warming charms. The porch was her favorite place to sit while she watched baby Teddy play with his toys. As she drew closer Hermione heard what sounded like quite a few children playing in the back yard. Whose children could that be? Why would they be playing here? Teddy was still too young for playmates.

When Hermione stepped outside her eyes were drawn to the lawn, where indeed there were what must have been a dozen small children running in circles, with Luna frolicking among them.

"So – what do you think?"

Hermione jumped. She hadn't even noticed Ginny standing down the porch, with Lavender, also watching the children play. Andromeda looked up from her chair, where she was giving Teddy a bottle. She had a sly, knowing look in her eyes.

"Who are they?" Hermione asked.

"Wow," said Lavender. "They even fooled Hermione." Her voice was flat. Hermione wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or not.

Luna spotted her from below, and shouted "They're my pigeons!" Hermione was puzzled for a moment, and then she gasped. The other day they'd come up with a plan for saving the orphans. Part of it was to transfigure small animals to look like the children. Luna had been certain it would work, but Hermione had never dreamed they would look so realistic.

"Are you telling me those are . . . ."

"Yep. Pigeons!" Luna danced in a circle among them, her hands waving in the air.

Hermione frowned and studied the children more closely. They weren't actually playing any sort of organized game, but each was turning in circles, ignoring the others unless they came too close. One of the children – it _was_ hard to tell if they were girls or boys – was dressed all in shades of grey, although the others were far more colorful.

"They've been refining them all morning," smiled Andromeda.

Hermione turned to Ginny, who was looking quite pleased. "We've added more color, made their motions less jerky, kept them from pecking the dirt, . . ."

"Or each other," Lavender added.

Ginny's smile grew bigger. "Between Lavender and Luna they've found all sorts of spells that help." Lavender looked away, but Hermione could see that she was pleased.

"Amazing," Hermione spoke in a soft voice. This could actually work.

"Watch," yelled Luna. She pointed her wand at a squirrel running up a nearby tree. The squirrel turned and ran down the tree, then over towards Luna. Hermione couldn't hear the unfamiliar spells she was using, but she saw the squirrel turn into a child, this one a bit bigger than the others. His clothes were all shades of brown, but Lavender waved her wand from the porch and they changed color, looking almost like blue jeans and a t-shirt. He ran through the other children, scattering them, scaring some of them, but not really paying any attention to them.

Luna stopped swirling, folded her arms and carefully considered the squirrel/boy. She squished her face up, then waved her wand and they all watched as he grew taller.

"What did you just do?" Hermione called down, overcome with curiosity.

"I aged him a bit," answered Luna.

"What spell did you use? Is it a charm?"

"No, it's the spell version of the aging potion."

"You can really do that?" Hermione had never seen anyone actually use a spell version of a potion.

"Oh yes, it's one of my father's hobbies, although it is a very intuitive art." She went back to spinning around in the midst of the children. Hermione rolled her eyes. She was glad that Ginny was taking notes. They could look those over later.

Surely this could fool a bunch of Death Eaters.

Death Eaters. She shook her head. She'd forgotten all about why she'd come down here, and what she really needed to be doing.

She went back over to the table and lowered her voice. "Andromeda? I was going to ask you about . . . your note." She didn't want to say too much in front of the others. This part of the job was particularly sensitive. "Maybe I should just come back later."

"I think you probably should. We can talk when there aren't so many . . . people around."

Hermione nodded, grateful for several reasons that Andromeda was being cautious.

"Great. I need to get back to work – Harry's waiting. I'll come back down when we're done." Hermione looked over to Ginny. "I've got to get back upstairs." She knew Ginny was annoyed that she got to work with Harry so much. "Sorry, but we promised Kingsley we'd get this done. Harry and I'll both be down later."

Lying to Ginny gave her an unsettled feeling in her stomach - best to just leave before she said any more. "Bye," she called over her shoulder. She was already so late.

As soon as she was in the room she summoned her polyjuice, too rushed to walk across the room bhairs into the flask. She swirled the potion to mix it.

"Hey, Hermione, . . ."

She whirled around, holding the flask behind her back. She'd forgotten to lock the door. How stupid!

"Sorry to interrupt, but we forgot to ask about . . . ."

Ginny froze in the doorway, her eyes boring into Hermione's so intently that Hermione looked away then realized that she shouldn't have done that, just like she shouldn't have jumped, she shouldn't have turned around so quickly, she shouldn't be holding something behind her back. At least she'd stopped biting her lip.

"Where's Harry?" Ginny answered, the edge in her voice suggesting that she already knew he wasn't there. Luna peeked over her shoulder and looked around Remus's office.

"He's . . . um . . . he'll be right back."

"Oh, are you lying about everything then, or just Harry?" Luna asked.

Hermione cringed with mortification, but Ginny just glanced at Luna. "Don't know yet. Which is it, Hermione?"

"Look," Hermione decided to take a different tack. "I'm sorry but I'm not allowed to say."

"Let me guess. Harry's off fighting whatever battle is going on. That's why mom wanted me to stay here all afternoon, even though I'm supposed to be allowed to fight now." Hermione couldn't help but admire Ginny's deductive powers.

"I guess I'm being left out too. I wonder why. My jellylegs jinx is quite good." Hermione hated the idea of Luna in battle for some reason, although she had held her own at the Ministry of Magic.

Ginny continued without responding to Luna. "You're providing cover for Harry, but now that you've established your alibi you were going to go join him. You're hiding something behind your back and wishing we would just leave so you could take off."

Luna had walked over and was studying the jars with various creatures in them that were on one of Lupin's shelves. "It's probably something useful in battle. Maybe a Babbling Beverage or some Polyjuice Potion."

Hermione made every effort not to react, but either she flinched or maybe the answer was just too obvious.

"It's polyjuice. That's how they can get into the battles without anyone knowing that they're there." Hermione didn't respond. Ginny stepped closer and stared at Hermione. "Explain to me why you should be able to go into battle and we shouldn't?"

At this Luna looked over her shoulder, waiting for the answer.

"Well, . . . Harry doesn't want . . . ."

"I'm of age. Harry doesn't get to make decisions for me."

"I know. It's just . . . ." Hermione was stuck. She had no good answers.

"So where's the battle?" Ginny pressed her.

"St. Mungo's. Look, the Death Eaters all scatter as soon as anyone from the Order shows up. I'm so late; it's probably all but over now."

"All the more reason for us to go with you. They'll need help cleaning up, healing."

"I'll bring some dittany," said Luna brightly.

"I don't have any more polyjuice with me."

"But you do have more back at Grimmauld Place. Come on. We'll go back there. If it's totally over, everyone will already be getting back. If not, . . ." Ginny turned toward the door and sent her patronus, a fox, out the door.

"What was that?" Hermione asked.

"Just a message to Lavender. She'll want to come."

Hermione sighed, but Ginny was right. They'd need everyone they could get at St. Mungo's and there was no reason to leave behind three solid wands.

It wasn't long before they were stepping out of the floo at Grimmauld Place. Hermione was a bit surprised that no one was back yet. Her stomach tightened, now wondering what was going on, why was it taking so long? This whole thing was making her so nervous she was getting heartburn. She could feel the strangest warmth near the bottom of her throat.

They tiptoed through the front hall, trying not to awaken Mrs. Black. She'd put protective charms on the potions in her room so she couldn't summon the polyjuice. They'd have to go get it.

The warmth was building, almost burning. Hermione reached up and felt it. The locket. It wasn't heartburn. The locket was hot.

She opened it and the sweet girl was there, pleading. "_Miss Granger! It's urgent!"_

Hermione froze on the landing. "Wait, Ginny. I need to . . . ."

"_Miss Granger – Miss Hyacinth's beside herself. There's a message. She says you must see it right away."_

"What? What's going on?" Ginny, Lavender and Luna all gathered around behind Hermione, trying to see the locket she was shielding with her hands.

"Of course I must," Hermione muttered. She should just give up on getting to St. Mungo's. It was clearly never going to happen. Then she noticed the young girl looked upset. "I'll go see what she needs." Hermione snapped the locket shut and turned to Ginny, Luna and Lavender. This was going to be a bit tricky.

"Um, . . . there's a problem. There's something I need to do. Down here, in the library."

"Is there time?" Ginny asked.

"Not really, but it won't take long. Go on up. The polyjuice is in the cabinet in the boys' bathroom. I'll meet you back in the parlour." Before they could object, Hermione hurried off to see what Hyacinth needed, probably just a new message on the vase. She could translate it later.

The rest of the girls were in the parlour, debating where to get hairs for their polyjuicing, when Hermione rushed in.

"We have a problem, a serious problem." She was taking in large gulps of air, but she still couldn't seem to breathe right. "Oh my gosh. What do we do? What do we do?"

"Hermione? What's wrong?" Ginny came over and half helped, half pushed Hermione into a chair. "Take a deep breath and hold it. Now." For once Hermione was glad that Ginny had a bossy streak.

Hermione started to speak and Ginny interrupted. "Wait. You can't tell us anything if you hyperventilate or faint." Hermione nodded. She could feel the deep breath working, helping her to stop her panic, although just barely. "Okay, now talk. Slowly."

"There's going to be another attack. The Death Eaters are attacking the orphanage today, this afternoon, in just two hours."

Hermione hoped they wouldn't ask too many questions about where she was getting her information, but this was too big for her to handle alone.

She took a deep breath. "Okay, the first thing we need to do is . . . ." She summoned her patronus, an otter who was inappropriately playful given the circumstances, and sent it off – "Tell Harry or Ron that there's an attack on an orphanage now. We need help." Even in her panic she remembered to make the message neutral. A Death Eater could hear it and they couldn't know the Order had been forewarned.

"Okay, what next?"

"Hermione, we can do this. We came up with the plan. We've been practicing. We're ready." Ginny's tone was so calmly certain that Hermione began to think she was right.

Lavender had come over, her eyes alight. "Hermione, we're ready. We know the plan." Hermione's panic seemed to be having an adverse effect on both Ginny and Lavender, making them calmer and more resolved than ever.

Luna smiled at Hermione. "I want to add some crows," she said, in a voice that sounded as though she were merely discussing the weather.

"What?" Once again Hermione felt that Luna spoke a different language.

"Oh, that's what we'd come up to ask you about," Ginny clarified. It was nice having someone who could translate. "The orphanage needs some adults or it'd be suspicious. The cat we tried chased the pigeon children too much, but we think a couple of crows would work. We tried one; it was too small. Luna found an enlargement charm though that should work. The crows squawk a lot, but I've known ladies who sounded just like that."

Luna nodded. "The time Professor Sinistra was mad at the 5th year boys for . . . ."

There was a flash and Hermione's glowing otter reappeared. Even it seemed sobered now. "I cannot deliver the message. The floor has been sealed." With that somber pronouncement it faded away.

They all stood silent, mouths agape.

Hermione took another deep breath and tried to calm herself. The implications of what the patronus had said were too many, too awful. "What does that mean?"

"No idea," said Ginny, at the same time that Lavender muttered "Nothing good."

"We're not going to get any help," said Hermione. What it meant for the others she couldn't think about now.

"We can take care of the orphans. The others can take care of themselves." Luna was unusually firm.

"Do you think so? We have no time. I wanted to practice. I . . . ."

"Hermione?" Ginny cut her off. "Where's the attack?"

"In Surrey." She looked at the other girls all staring intently at her. "Okay. Let's do this."

This would work. It had to.

**AN – I know that was long. It's just that so much happened. Don't worry. The next chapter will have lots of Draco.**


	13. Chapter 13 - Blood

13 – Blood

Draco Malfoy stood with his hands gripped behind his back. He looked as calm and unflappable as ever. No one could tell that his right hand was clenched over his left with an intensity that would tomorrow show bruises**. **Somehow, he felt that he could hold himself together amidst the chaos around him if he just held on tight enough. He also decided to ignore the drop of sweat he could feel slowly sliding down his back between his shoulder blades.

His time was again running out and he had yet to find a way to kill the Dark Lord. In fact, he hardly knew where to look, how to begin.

Today, though, he had more immediate problems.

"The fiend fyre is a commendable idea, Mulciber, but unfortunately I cannot allow it." The Dark Lord's eyes seemed to glow with the idea of unquenchable fire destroying the fighters from the Order of the Phoenix.

"Not at all, my Lord?" It was Aunt Bella who dared to question him. Mulciber was standing mute, hoping that he hadn't accidentally angered the Dark Lord.

"At least not until we've captured Harry Potter. I must be the one to kill him, personally. If he were to perish in the fire we wouldn't even be able to identify his remains. That would be unacceptable."

"But, if we capture him, then can we use it on the others?" Mulciber was eager again.

"As long as we've also captured one or two of his friends, for persuasion purposes. Eliminating the rest of them could also be very persuasive."

Draco's mind was playing tricks on him. He could smell the fetid smell of burning flesh as they discussed their plans. He felt nauseous. There was no way he could sneak away to send a warning to the Order. They'd probably rush in anyway, but maybe if they expected a trap they could be ready somehow. He couldn't possibly leave now though, so it didn't matter.

For once, he couldn't find any fault with the Dark Lord's plans. They were viciously brilliant. He couldn't see a way for Potter, or most of the other Order members, to survive the day.

"One last question, before you go –" Mulciber's smile froze on his face.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"The key to this plan is the sealing spell. It is the spell that will seal the St. Mungo's staff and patients on the lower floors. It is the spell that will trap the Order members on the entry level when they come rushing in. Have you performed this spell before?"

"Um . . . yes, my Lord." Mulciber's hesitation meant something. They all knew it– at least those who were paying attention, although the buzz of conversation suggested that most weren't.

"Yes, but . . . ?"

"Not on such a large scale, my Lord."

"I suspected as much. When you are ready for the sealing spells, send someone back by portkey," the Dark Lord scanned those gathered in the cave, "Goyle, you'll do. Send him back and I will come to you." The Dark Lord paused, then theatrically proclaimed "I will do the sealing spells myself."

The cave fell silent. Now, finally, all those gathered realized that this was no normal battle. The Dark Lord only went into battle when he planned to end it all.

Draco knew he should just be glad that his part of the plan was so minor, really just a back-up, a way to ensure that Potter was lured out today. Personally, he knew Potter would go to St. Mungo's, somehow concealed, but he would be there. So the attack on the orphanage was not only hideous, but also unnecessary. The Dark Lord's idea was that if, by some miracle, Potter was being cautious, being obedient, and didn't respond to the St. Mungo's attack, he would never let orphans be slaughtered without putting up a fight.

One of Draco's duties was to send an anonymous owl alerting the Order as they began the orphanage attack. It was an unsubtle way to lure them there, but, of course, they wouldn't be able to resist. He'd seriously considered just skipping that step – telling the Dark Lord, 'what a shame, they had no one left to respond.' However, he was going to go ahead with it – for a number of reasons. He was virtually certain that Potter would already be at St. Mungo's, he didn't want to completely lose the trust of his Order contact, and he desperately wished that there would be someone there, someone who could execute the plan they'd sent him. They'd already come up with a perfect plan, except neither Draco nor his contact had known that the orphanage would be the second attack in an already busy day.

"It is time. Go. Today we will triumph."

A crazed war whoop went up. Draco couldn't tell who had started it, but it died down quickly as the various Death Eaters activated their portkeys, sending them to appear all over St. Mungo's.

When they were all gone, the only two left with Draco were Dolohov and his father, who was currently sitting on the floor building something with some rocks.

"It hardly seems fair to send so many to St. Mungo's and leave only the two of you for the attack on the Cinnabar Home." The Dark Lord was in a good mood, although Draco knew how quickly such a mood could shift into something more dangerous. Even as he thought that, he saw something hard flicker through the Dark Lord's eyes. Then it was gone. It was nothing. Now would be a good time to ask the question he'd been planning – whether it would do any good or not.

"How long do you want us to wait until the attack?"

The Dark Lord frowned, his eyes shifted upward as he mentally calculated. "Two hours. It will take the others at least an hour to be ready for the sealing spell. We need those left behind at the Order to have time to realize that they can't contact anyone from the initial attack."

"My Lord, if I may?" He needed to be as deferential as possible. He waited for the Dark Lord to nod, then went on. "You saw my concerns regarding the Underground attack, how it could have been more effective with some prior reconnaissance." The Dark Lord gave, again, the slightest nod. "Since there is time, I'd like to scout the orphanage, just check the exits, any escape routes, get a count of about how many orphans are there, that sort of thing. With your permission."

"Excellent. Careful preparation will ensure that you're project comes to a better end than MacNair's. Dolohov? Go with him."

Draco wouldn't react, even though he'd had enough of Dolohov watching, waiting for him to make a mistake. Worse yet, now there would be no chance to send a message to the Order, asking for help that probably wouldn't come anyway. The Dark Lord gave them each a portkey that would transport them to an alley near the orphanage when they were ready.

Just as Draco was about to activate his, Dolohov spoke. "My Lord, Fenrir would be honored to be able to assist today. May I contact him?"

Draco almost laughed out loud, hearing the formal words applied to a most informal beast of a man.

The Dark Lord was impassive for a moment, then he made up his mind and leered. "Yes. His presence will terrify both the orphans and the Order. Draco, make sure your owl mentions that he will be there. In fact, you might want to sign it in his name." The Dark Lord sat back, smiling at his own brilliance.

Dolohov turned to Draco. "It may take me some time to find him. I'll meet you at the orphanage as soon as I can."

Draco nodded, relieved. He reached into the pocket of his robe and grabbed, not the portkey the Dark Lord had given him, but his own portkey. He'd be able to stop by the cottage and leave a message. He still didn't have high hopes that there would be anyone there who could help, but at least they'd know he'd tried.

"One last thing –" Something in the Dark Lord's voice made a shiver run up Draco's back. "I'm expecting some playthings from your orphanage – Potter, one of his friends, or at least a couple of fresh orphans. Don't let Greyback have all of them." Draco nodded, then activated his portkey as quickly as he could. He couldn't have the Dark Lord invading his mind, not while he was thinking that there was no way he was going to bring back any playthings for that sick bastard.

He had so much to do and very little time. At the cottage he bounded up the stairs to his office. "Miss Black, please forgive me. This message is urgent." He barely spoke to her after that, engraving the runes to tell his contact that the attack would be soon, possibly in two hours, he'd try to stall for more time, but he couldn't promise anything.

He paused on his way out of the door. "Miss Black," he didn't know if this would help or not, but he had to try, "if there's any way you can get . . . my contact to read that message soon, the lives of innocent children hang in the balance."

He wasn't even sure if Hyacinth was listening, until he noticed her skin had blanched. She nodded and said "I'll do what I can, but perhaps it would behooveyou and your contact to devise a method to alert each other in emergencies."

He froze. Of course, she was right. "Thank you. You're right. We need to do that soon, but not today. I have to go." He turned before he reached the door. It would be good luck to ask his mother's portrait for her blessing. It probably meant nothing from a portrait, but . . . it didn't matter anyway. The frame was empty. That was strange. Hadn't she been there when he came in? He said a silent prayer to her, wherever she was. That would probably work as well, which was to say - not at all.

He apparated into the alley near the orphanage next. A few quick glamours later and he was a chubby man with light brown hair. He didn't want to be memorable.

He walked briskly past the orphanage, sizing it up. It was a square, three story building, with a short flight of stairs leading from the pavement up to the front door. Behind the orphanage was a playground, with a swing set, slide and roundabout, all covered with chipped paint. The building itself was plain, white brick, with little ornamentation, a back door and a couple dozen windows.

Once Draco had walked past, he slipped between two nearby buildings, disillusioned himself and went back to take a closer look.

It didn't take long. The orphanage wasn't very large or very complicated. Draco paused, leaning against the window frame, watching the children do some sort of lesson. One little girl waved her hand in the air, and his mind went, of course, to Granger. Was she his contact? He frowned. He had little hope that anyone from the Order would be there to get his message; only a faint hope that he would get any help. But if he did, he hoped it wouldn't be her. Greyback would be there today. He'd forgotten to mention that in his runes.

It would be in the owl message he would send. Once again, he reminded himself that it probably didn't matter. He needed to get back to the cottage, dig through his books, see if he could find the spell to transfigure the pigeons himself. How would he find the time, time without Dolohov there, to do it? He didn't know, but he couldn't just give up. It wasn't in his nature.

As soon as he got back to the cottage he dropped onto the sofa and picked up where he'd left off in "Advanced Animal Spells." When he looked up he was horrified to see that forty-five minutes had passed and he still hadn't found anything useful. He did find an interesting spell, invented in order to keep guard dogs on high alert, which intensified animal reactions. What effect would that have on Greyback? Was there an opposing spell – one that would minimize his brutality? Those were questions for another day. Of course, given the fact that he was planning to displease the Dark Lord, refusing to bring him live victims, Draco wondered whether he'd see another day. If Potter were captured or killed the Dark Lord would probably forget all about him, but that would be an even worse outcome. Why were all of his choices bad ones?

He needed to report back to the Dark Lord in twenty minutes. He forced himself back upstairs, to look through the books in his office once again and see if he'd missed anything.

As he walked in he was surprised to see that Hyacinth was obviously watching for him. She quickly resumed her usual pose, then looked over her shoulder with a lofty smile. "Oh, Mr. Malfoy, I have some news for you."

Draco tried to remain calm, but his heart was pounding. "Yes?"

"They got the message. They're bustling about." She gave him a self-satisfied smile. He didn't care. He was so happy he would have hugged her if she hadn't been two dimensional.

"Wonderful. Fantastic. Thank you." He threw his head back and breathed deeply, feeling the relief flow through him. Then he snapped his head forward "Wait – when? When did they get the message?" Would they have time?

"Ages ago. Just a few minutes after you left it."

"Thank God." He knew he was grinning like a fool, but he didn't even care. "And thank you, Miss Black."

"Let me know how it works out," she said, as she went back to examining her nails.

Draco frowned. "I will if I can." If the plan was in place no one would be bringing any orphans back to the Dark Lord. There was still a significant chance that he would be tortured, or worse, tonight. There was no point worrying about things to come. It was best to just get on with what needed to be done.

"Draco, dear," his mother was back. "So your message was delivered on time?"

"Yes, mother. It was somewhat of a miracle."

She smiled her lovely unflappable smile. "I'm sure it was. Good luck. I'm so proud of you, dear."

"Thank you, mother." He gave her a head nod bow as he left. He knew the portrait was just a shadow of his mother, but he still loved her smile.

He had one more thing to do before he left. "Nappy!" he called. He picked up a quill and began to sketch out a message, until the familiar 'pop' told him the house elf had arrived.

"Can you get me an owl, not my usual owl?"

"Yes, Master." Draco knew better than to ask too many questions. Sometimes house elf methods were somewhat . . . unorthodox.

Sure enough, not five minutes later, Nappy was back with a small, grey owl that Draco had never seen before. Draco scratched a minimally literate andmaximally threatening note regarding the attack on the orphanage and signed it - using his left hand so it would be suitably illegible -"Fenrir Greyback."

Draco cast a quick cooling spell over himself, and glanced in the mirror to make sure that his calm and confident façade was in place, then portkeyed himself back to the Dark Lord's lair. Dolohov wasn't there yet. There were still a couple of minutes left before he'd be late. Since the Dark Lord wasn't much for small talk, Draco watched his father, who was stacking rocks then knocking them over repeatedly. He slipped inside his own mind and went over his plans for the orphanage attack. Suddenly an idea leaped forward in his head. He'd thought of a way to use one of the new spells he'd encountered and possibly get himself off of the hook when they didn't bring back any live victims to the Dark Lord. He allowed a slight, sinister smile. Just as he'd hoped, the Dark Lord noticed.

"Planning something evil, Mr. Malfoy?"

His father flinched, as though he almost replied to the use of his name. Draco wondered – was he more aware than he pretended to be? Surely not. The Dark Lord himself had perused his father's mind, from the inside, and proclaimed him insane. But still.

Draco turned from those thoughts and toward the demon figure standing by a table to the side of the cave. "Yes, my Lord. I'm contemplating the terror we're about to let loose."

"Ah, and I'm contemplating the terror we've already sent down on St. Mungo's. This is a momentous day."

"I know. One for the history books."

"When I have time to write them."

A pop announced the arrival of Dolohov and Greyback. Draco kept his face carefully neutral as Dolohov attempted to brush off his robes. It was better to act above such rivalry.

"Ready?" he asked smoothly, taking control of the moment.

"We're ready." Dolohov looked to the Dark Lord, who merely nodded.

"We each take a different door. Antonin," Draco knew he hated to be called by his first name, "you take the back door to the east. Fenrir, the back to the west. I'll take the front and when . . . ."

"Why do you get the front?"

"Because I've been there already. I've planned this attack. When I ring the doorbell, that's a bell they have by the door which will ring through the building, that's the cue. We attack. Any questions?"

"Which ones do we bring back?" Dolohov was off his game today. It was foolish to ask such a question in front of the Dark Lord. He must have thought Draco would hesitate, but he was wrong.

"I'll set aside a couple of cute ones. You can too, if you like. Other than that, kill them all." If his plan went well he wouldn't have to worry about any of them being set aside. He hoped the transfigured pigeons would be convincing enough to fool the others, who weren't accustomed to Muggle children. If they weren't, he'd have much bigger problems than that.

It worked like a dream. By going in the front door, Draco could make sure that the actual orphans he'd seen earlier were gone. He was the only one who saw that none of the now resident transfigured creatures were up to actually answering the door, the only one who saw that they were running in aimless circles even before the attack began.

He killed the larger ones first, the ones who were supposed to be the matrons, and whose harsh cawing sounded quite like obnoxious women he'd encountered. Then he decided to slow down, make more of a show of it, both for Dolohov and Greyback, but also so that the Dark Lord could revel in his memories later. He used slicing spells for maximum mess, glad that there was no sign of feathers or such, just a lot of blood. He made sure that some of it splashed up onto the walls, the windows, taking care to let his gaze linger there so that he would have memories pleasing, and distracting, to the Dark Lord.

He petrified two victims, tossing them face down in a corner, so that no one would notice anything odd about them. He waited until Dolohov was busy cornering a group of panicking pigeon-children in a playroom. Then he turned to Greyback. He pointed his wand at the werewolf's back and whispered _"eviglio."_ The change was immediate. Greyback had already been excited, but suddenly he stiffened and looked around, eyes widening at his increased sensitivity. Then he exploded in a frenzy of motion. In seconds, he had killed all of the supposed orphans in the room, including, as Draco had intended, the two set aside for the Dark Lord.

"Hey!" yelled Draco in feigned anger. "Antonin! Can't you control this beast?" Dolohov sent one last flash of green into the playroom as he turned, furious with Draco for using such an accusing tone with him. His anger was distracted though when Greyback pushed past him and into the kitchen where some of their victims had congregated. It took him only a few moments to dispose of everything living in that room, using no spells, only vicious physical attacks. At this rate the orphanage would be cleaned out very quickly.

"Greyback, no! Save some of them . . ." Dolohov knew that Fenrir wasn't listening. Even Draco could hardly hear his words over the werewolf's snarling. Dolohov followed Greyback, his wand half-raised, but it was clear that he couldn't decide what to do to calm his associate.

Just as Draco was smugly rejoicing that he'd be able to blame Greyback, and through him, Dolohov, for the lack of living "playthings," everything went wrong.

Greyback froze, head up, nostrils flaring. "Granger," he panted. "I smell Granger."

A flash of realization hit Draco. Hyacinth had said that the Order had gotten the message right after he sent it. They'd been working on responding for a long time. They'd probably all left their headquarters by the time he'd even sent the owl. Most likely its message was sitting on a window sill, still unread, even now.

So, Granger must be here, or at least, she had been here, setting things up. What if she wasn't here in the building but was watching from outside, thinking she was safe? The new spell he'd used on Greyback might have sharpened his senses so much that he could smell her even from a distance.

He drew his wand and struggled to remember – was there a counter-spell? What was it?

Just then the front door opened. There was a strangled shriek and Draco turned to see a woman and child enter - an actual child and a non-transfigured adult. One of the orphans had come back from somewhere with a chaperone. In her hysteria the woman wasn't that different from the transfigured creatures he'd killed earlier, but the small girl reacted very differently. She silently buried her face in the woman's leg, clutching fiercely at the lollipop in her hand. Then, behind them, a second woman rushed in, this one intensely angry, not terrified at all.

Greyback turned, hearing the panicked woman's continuing noise, which now had become an incoherent blubbering, and bounded for her, moving as much like a beast as a man. That was enough to force Dolohov to act. _"Impedimenta!"_ he shouted and Fenrir's momentum stopped as he went into a labored slow motion.

Dolohov was on a roll, and before Draco could register what he was doing, he blasted the shrieking woman with a green flash that silenced her completely and permanently. The child still made no noise, but backed away from the dead woman in horror. The other woman rushed in and grabbed the little girl, lifting her and folding her body around her to protect her.

"Don't touch them!" Draco shouted. He hit them both with a _petrificalus totalus_, then, ignoring them as they fell heavily to the floor, calmly said to Dolohov, "we have to have some to bring back alive." That would at least buy them some time.

Draco wasn't sure what to do with them. He didn't see any way he could get rid of them without blowing his cover. First, he needed to know if there were more orphans following or was it just this single one and her chaperone. Since her eyes were frozen open it was simple to slip inside her mind.

He knew there was something wrong right away. These were not the chaotic thoughts of a Muggle. In fact, once he went back behind the initial thoughts of reaching the woman and girl, he quickly found himself looking up a wand as Muggle children were hurried onto a double-decker bus. With shock he realized this was a witch's mind he was in. He hurried back, looking for some clue of who this was. He saw her memories of Granger, Luna Lovegood and a blonde Gryffindor girl who now had serious facial scars. Then he jumped back in time and suddenly found a memory of kissing Harry Potter. It was just a quick peck on the cheek, but it was enough to make Draco withdraw from her mind in horror. Potter's girlfriend! What the Dark Lord would do with her.

Now he had to get her out of here, but she had plans of her own. She must have had her hand on her wand under her robes, or been a more powerful witch than he knew, because suddenly she was freed from his spell. She grabbed the child again and made a run for the door as smoke filled the room, blocking his view.

They might have made it, except for Bellatrix's sudden appearance in the doorway. She looked even more wild and disheveled than usual. _"Confringo,"_she shouted as she blasted the brick wall of the house apart. The bricks flew in mass at the fleeing witch and child. Draco saw one in particular heading right for the small girl's head. Without thinking he issued a silent _"Accio"_ and then realized his mistake as the bricks changed course and hurtled toward him. His arm flew out in a vain attempt to block them. One bashed into his right hand and he fell to his knees from the sudden burst of pain.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he regained control of his shrieking mind, but as soon as he could, he began to stand. Aunt Bella sneered at him, "Nice spell, Draco." She'd already bound the witch and child together thoroughly, even though they were both now bloody and unconscious. Apparently, some of the bricks had still hit them. He had to do something. This was Potter's girl. He recalled the lollipop that had been clutched in the small girl's hand and made a snap decision. He had a portkey in his pocket. It would send them to a field, not far from the cliffs of Dover. In their current condition that wouldn't be the best place to send them, but he had no other options. He did a quick switching spell, switched his portkey-quill with her lollipop, then a silent _"portus,"_ and they were gone.

Bellatrix's face darkened in fury. "Where'd they . . . ."

"The Order! They're here," Draco bluffed, then sent a couple of blasting spells in random directions to back up his words.

Bellatrix had her wand out, searching the room for any sign of someone invisible.

"The Dark Lord's furious already," she hissed, warning her nephew. He wanted to ask her for more information, but she whirled suddenly and blasted another wall. "If we can catch Potter, he might forgive . . . ."

He cut her off. "It's Potter. He's here, under that cloak of his. _Accio cloak_." He already knew that wouldn't work even if Potter was here, but it made for a good show.

Just then, his arm burned. His heart fell. This was bad. They were being summoned back.

"We need to bring back someone, some orphans, someone." Aunt Bella's voice was higher than usual. She was scared, which didn't happen often.

"Let's see if there are any still alive._ Spiritus revelio._" Another show. It only worked on humans, but this way Aunt Bella would know there were no more potential victims here. "There's no one left. Greyback was out of control. He killed them all."

Dolohov glared at Draco, but he said nothing.

"Maybe we can find one, someone, anyone," she said. Draco thought to the crowded street nearby. "What about upstairs?"

"_Hominem revelio,"_ he murmured, and got the answer he expected. Not a living soul left in the orphanage.

"We could go outside. Go across the . . . ."

Her words were cut off as they were all pulled back to the Dark Lord's cave.

Draco stumbled as he landed. The pain shot up his arm from his hand. It was affecting everything. He regained his footing and turned to face the Dark Lord, trying to lock his hands behind him again, this time both out of habit and in an attempt to hide his injury. It was never good to show a weakness.

The Dark Lord was pacing, fury emanating from him. Obviously, the attack on St. Mungo's hadn't gone as planned.

"Was he there? Did you get him?" Without waiting for an answer, the Dark Lord plunged into Aunt Bella's mind. It seemed only seconds before he was done. "Potter was there!" he bellowed. "You lost him! _Crucio!_"

Draco couldn't remember ever seeing the Dark Lord torture Aunt Bella. His eyes burned red as he turned from her toward Draco. "You've brought me nothing."

"My Lord, I . . . ." Draco stopped. Blaming his failure on Greyback wasn't going to work when the Dark Lord was this mad. Nothing would help.

"Hold out your hand – your injured hand." Draco knew better than to hope for healing. His arm seemed to fight him as he pulled it out from behind his back.

"You know the rules. Heal like a Muggle." With that the Dark Lord pointed his wand at Draco's right hand and spoke, calmly, _"Confringo." _Draco's mind exploded in pain. He couldn't think of anything, but his hand, his ruined hand.

He didn't know how long he lay on the floor of the cave. He was only dimly aware of others speaking, moving around him. He didn't know who summoned his house elf. He opened his eyes at last when he realized the noise was gone. It took effort to focus, but he finally registered that Nappy was holding him up. They were in the cottage.

It didn't matter. The pain wouldn't stop. Now it was throbbing. He felt his pounding heartbeat throughout his entire body. He slipped from Nappy's grip and felt heavily onto the floor.

As he lay there he knew there was something, something important, he needed to remember.

Potter's girl. She was hurt. She might die. They'd think the Death Eaters had her. He had to let them know. He tried to sit. The motion made his head reel, his stomach lurch.

"Master, no. Lie back. Master is hurt." Nappy's eyes were large with fear. She knew the rules, knew she couldn't heal him, couldn't help him. He'd die, like MacNair did, slowly, his arm festering, the green/black spreading up from his hand, but it would take days.

There was no way he could get to his office, no way he could send a message, do the runes.

"Nappy, help me. I need . . . ."

"Master? What can Nappy do?"

"Grimmauld Place? Can you . . . ."

"Yes, Master. Nappy was young there. What does Master need?"

"Tell them . . . tell them . . . Potter's girl . . . hurt . . . in field, cliffs of Dover." Draco's vision was going black. He wasn't sure whether he had passed out and come to again or not.

"Yes, Master. Potter's girl is hurt in a field near the cliffs of Dover," Nappy repeated eagerly.

Draco gave a nod. "Go."

It was all he could do.

**AN – Just a teaser for all of you who've been waiting so patiently (and those who haven't been quite as patient, too) – next chapter will have both Draco and Hermione in it! **


	14. Chapter 14 - Revelio

**Disclaimer – I didn't write the Harry Potter books, I don't own the characters, and I'm not making any money on this. None of this will change, even if I forget to put disclaimers on some of the chapters.**

14 – Revelio

Hermione rushed into Grimmauld Place, hoping against hope. She went straight to the kitchen, Luna and Lavender right behind her. What if they weren't here?

Her chest felt like it would explode when she saw the many faces packed around the table. She threw herself into Harry's arms, then looped one arm around Ron as he came over.

"You're okay. You're okay." It was like a mantra. All the fear she hadn't allowed herself to feel was pulsing through her, even through her relief.

Her head snapped up, looking around frantically. "Ginny! Ginny – are you here?"

Harry's eyes grew wide with shock, then his face darkened.

She asked again, although his face had already told her the answer. "Ginny? Is she here?"

"What do you mean? Where have you been?"

Hermione took a deep breath. There was so much to explain. As quickly as she could she explained how they'd gotten the warning about the orphanage attack, skipping the part about the polyjuice.

"I tried to let you know but my patronus came back. What happened?"

"It was a trap. We were sealed. Nothing could get in or out."

"What? How'd you get out then?"

"I'll tell you later. First, where's Ginny?"

"I don't know." She explained the orphanage attack, the defense, how everything had been going so well. "Then I saw a woman, one of the orphanage matrons I guess. She was walking down the pavement with this little girl. I didn't know she was an orphan. I didn't know they were going to the orphanage, until all of a sudden they turned, they went up the stairs. Ginny had been waiting on the other end of the street. We should've done a Muggle repelling spell, but we didn't. When the lady and the girl went in, Ginny went after them. I should have gone after her. I should have . . . ."

"No. You shouldn't have." Kingsley interrupted her. "Greyback was there. Miss Weasley is a talented witch."

"I know. I thought she'd be fine. I thought she was fine. It was just a few minutes later that it fell silent. The Death Eaters were gone. I ran in. The Muggle lady was lying there, dead. It was . . . it was a mess, but it was all the transfigured pigeons. I did a _Hominem Revelio_ and there was no one there. Ginny was gone, the girl was gone, everyone was gone."

A horrible silence covered the kitchen. No one spoke. No one moved. Mrs. Weasley brought her hand to her mouth and bit into it.

Kingsley took charge. "Minerva, Arthur, Miss Granger, we need to talk. The sitting room." Harry, Ron, Mrs. Weasley, Bill, everyone who hadn't been named began to protest. Kingsley quieted them with a hand. "We need to move quickly. No time for debate. Molly, St. Mungo's is still a disaster. We won't be able to get a healer if we need one. Gather supplies. Be ready. I'll keep you all informed."

Hermione hurried ahead, toward the front sitting room. She quickly slipped into the library, and saw right away that there was no new message. "Miss Black? Anything?"

"No. What . . . are the children okay?"

"Yes. Well, one is missing, and one . . . a friend of mine. We're looking for them. Can you . . . , If you hear anything let me know."

"Certainly, but how?"

Hermione frowned. She must have forgotten. "The locket."

"Excuse me? What locket?"

Hermione pulled it out from under her robes. "This one. You had Kreacher give it to me."

"No. I remember it though. Is my picture still in there?"

"Yes. It's charmed to grow warm when you visit the picture."

"Okay, then." Hyacinth was satisfied, but Hermione wasn't. Who'd sent her the locket then? There was no time to think about it now. She went back out to the sitting room.

"No news," she reported.

Kingsley nodded. "Miss Granger, we need to set up a team to go back to the orphanage." Hermione summoned parchment and a quill and began to make notes. "First, we'll check for . . . ."

There was a loud crack of apparition in the hall. Kingsley frowned, then rose to go check, Hermione, Mr. Weasley and Professor McGonagall following just behind.

Walburga Black was already shrieking. Standing below her, hands over her ears, was an unfamiliar house elf. Kingsley had his wand drawn. Hermione dropped to her knees in front of the frightened creature.

"It's okay. We're not going to hurt you," she crooned softly.

"Miss? Nappy is not hurting Miss. Nappy has to tell . . . Nappy has a message. Nappy is to say that Potter's girl is . . . ."

There was a thunderous pounding in the hall as those from the kitchen came charging in, led by Harry, wands drawn.

"What did she say?" Harry yelled. He must have heard part of the message. The elf's head jerked in their direction and for a moment Hermione thought she might disapparate and be gone.

Kingsley held up his hand, furiously gesturing for the others to stop, to back off. Then he encouraged Hermione with a nod.

"Who sent you?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Master. Master sent me. Master is hurt. Master would send messages to the Order, but Master is hurt." They all looked as each other. How could they know if they could trust this elf?

"Hyacinth." Hermione murmured. "Wait just a moment," she said to the terrified elf. "No one will hurt you." She turned and glared at all of those with their wands aimed at the elf. Most of the wands lowered, although nearly all of them remained drawn and tense.

Hermione looked back at Professor McGonagall, who hurried forward to help. "I'll be right back," Hermione spoke softly to the professor, then backed away while giving the elf a vague, tight smile.

Once she was out of the hallway, she rushed into the library. "Hya . . . Miss Black, I must ask . . . do you know . . . ." She paused to remember the name the elf had used to refer to herself. "Do you know a house elf named 'Nappy'?"

Hyacinth smiled. "Oh, yes. Wonderful elf. Very helpful. Grew up in the . . . ." Hyacinth stopped, a hand flying to her mouth. "Oh, I mean, I don't . . . I'm not supposed to . . . ." She bit her lip, clearly worried that she had said too much, then pulled her face back into a more proper expression.

"Nappy is here with a message. Can we trust her?"

"Nappy is there? Oh dear." Hyacinth began to fan herself with her hand. "I mean . . . yes, of course, you can trust Nappy, but what's happened? Why would . . . ." She rose uncertainly from her chair. "I need to go. I need to check . . . ."

"Yes, of course. Thank you for your help." Hermione hurried back in the hall. It was empty, but she could hear voices in the kitchen.

When she pushed the heavy kitchen door opened she paused to take in the strange scene. Nappy was seated at the table, refusing to look at Professor McGonagall who was offering her tea. Several wizards, Ron and Charlie Weasley among them, had their wands drawn, pointing at the floor, but obviously ready to aim at the elf at any moment. Harry, however, was on his knees next to the elf.

"What did you say? We need you to give us the message again."

Nappy shook her head. "Miss said to wait." The elf stared down at the hands she had clasped in her own lap. Hermione realized that the elf was, for whatever reason, waiting for her.

"Nappy. I'm back. You can say your message again."

Nappy looked up, nodding excitedly. "Potter's girl is hurt in a field near the cliffs of Dover."

Harry stood up. "Let's go."

A cacophony of voices broke out.

"No, it might be a trap."

"I'll go."

"How do we know?"

"Get some brooms."

"Give it some veritaserum."

"This is insane."

"If there's a chance . . . ."

"It doesn't work on house elves."

"Why are we still here?"

"We can't just go . . . ."

There was a loud bang, as Kingsley held up his wand. The house elf, Nappy, flinched and pulled her feet up onto her chair, then hugged her legs and buried her head in her knees. Hermione moved over behind her, then stopped, uncertain, just before she touched the elf.

Kingsley said loudly "We have reason to believe that this elf has been sent by . . . our Death Eater contact."

Harry slapped the table loudly. "We need to go."

"You're not going," Kingsley said firmly. "But we're sending a team – Arthur, Bill, Oliver, Ron. Get brooms."

Bill started toward the door, then repeated "A field near the cliffs of Dover? How do we find her?"

"Apparate nearby, then use brooms to fly over, and cast _Hominem revelio_ until you find her," answered Kingsley.

"What if it's a trap?" asked Oliver, even though he was already moving toward the door.

"Keep separate, disillusion yourself before you go, keep your eyes . . . ." Kingsley kept the instructions coming as the team left.

Hermione pulled a chair over to Nappy who was standing, looking all too eager to leave. "Nappy? It's okay. No one's going to hurt you." Nappy turned to look at her. The elf's eyes were red and she was still shaking.

"Wait, Nappy, your master? How hurt is he?"

Nappy began shaking her head back and forth frantically. "So bad, Miss. So bad. And Nappy not allowed to heal Master. Master will die. Nappy can't help." The elf was becoming more and more distressed, now clutching at her own hair.

"Why won't your master let you heal him?" Hermione asked. Several heads had turned around the kitchen.

"No. No. Not Master. Not Master's rules. Have to follow the rules or Master will be punished." Nappy's voice came in a rushed high pitched tone that made the words hard to decipher.

"Not your master's rules? Whose rules?"

"Mustn't say. Nappy can't say. Nappy don't want Master to . . . ."

"Nappy," a gentle voice interrupted. It was Professor McGonagall. "We can work around the rules. There are ways to help your master without breaking the rules."

Hermione was thoroughly puzzled now, but she turned her head to the professor.

Nappy, however, began wringing her hands vigorously, almost violently. "Nappy gave message. Nappy needs go."

"Nappy?" The professor spoke softly, but Nappy's eyes swept wildly around the room, as though looking for an escape route. "Nappy? I know about the rules." The elf was wringing the hem of her own pillowcase dress until Hermione thought she would rip the cloth. Hermione wasn't sure if the distressed elf even heard Professor McGonagall.

Suddenly, Hestia Jones jolted out of her chair. "Hermione? Don't we still need to clean up at the orphanage, bring the real children back, modify memories, all of that?"

"Oh my gosh!" Hermione jumped to her feet. "I forgot. I was so worried about . . . ."

"Don't worry. I'm on it." Hestia said. Neville offered to go with her and Lavender agreed to show them where it was. The three of them headed for the door.

Hermione turned back to Nappy, just in time to see the shaking elf snap her fingers and disappear.

"Oh, no!" She gripped her face with her hands, then sighed and said to Professor McGonagall, "That's it then. She's gone. We have no way to find her master."

The professor drew her aside. "Perhaps you could leave a message."

"If what the elf says is true, her master is in no shape to get a message." Professor McGonagall sighed with resignation.

"Professor, was that true? What was Nappy talking about?"

"If it is what I think it is – it's simply barbaric. There are punishment rules. Old Snake Eyes occasionally punishes by refusing to allow anyone to heal certain injuries. He calls it 'healing the Muggle way,' but what he means is no healing at all."

"But you said there's a way to heal the injuries so that he doesn't know?"

"Yes, but it's tricky. He uses a spell which reveals any potions in a wizard's system. He checks the wizard's wand, and the wands of any close to him, and, of course, he uses legilimency to check for any other healing efforts."

Hermione felt slightly nauseous. This was something Voldemort did to those on his side, his own supporters.

"There is a way – a way we've used before though. Someone . . . another professor . . . kept a journal that explained how to recreate the effects of common healing potions with spells." Hermione wondered why they still couldn't speak publicly about Professor Snape's role as double agent, but this wasn't the time to get side-tracked. The Professor continued. "Since we Order members are not known to be helping Death Eaters our wands won't be checked. Finally, a spy, all of our spies, must be skilled at occulemency anyway."

"I guess it doesn't matter now anyway."

"No, but if you need it, we have his journal, as well as his notes in some of his books."

Hermione gave a half-hearted smirk. She was well-acquainted with Professor Snape's habit of marking up his books.

The kitchen grew awkwardly silent. Harry remained standing, leaning face first into a wall, bracing his head on this arms. Hermione wanted to comfort him, but she knew, until they found Ginny, there was nothing she could say. Part of her wished he would look at her, and part of her was hoping he wouldn't.

Every few moments she checked the Weasleys' clock. It had been moved to the kitchen of Grimmauld Place since Mrs. Weasley waited there whenever there was a raid. The clock didn't tell her much; the hands always pointed to "mortal peril" now, but as long as Ginny was in "mortal peril" they'd know she wasn't . . . . Hermione didn't want to think about it.

The time crawled by. Hermione wished they'd just return, then hoped they wouldn't. Not until they'd found her. She tried not to think about Ginny and found herself worrying instead about her Death Eater contact. She knew now he was male – Nappy had called him "master." He was injured, seriously according to the elf. Was he bleeding? Was he in pain? Was it Draco? Why did she picture Draco when she thought of her contact? Because he was the only Death Eater that she knew had second thoughts? Because he was the only Death Eater she knew?

She needed to think about something else. She ran through the ingredients of Wolfsbane Potion in her head, then Polyjuice, then Veritaserum.

There was a noise in the front hall – the front door!

"Mum!" someone called out. She could hear activity in the hall, as Mrs. Black began yelling again. They were back.

Hermione and the others surged toward the door, then backed away, not wanting to block it.

Bill burst through the door, arms laden with Ginny, bound with heavy ropes to a child – the orphan Hermione seen before – both of them covered in blood, pale, eyes closed. As she watched, the ropes were vanished, and Mr. Weasley hurried to catch the child.

Harry rushed forward, then stopped when Mrs. Weasley motioned him not to come too close. He started to ask the question that Hermione couldn't even think. "Are they . . . Is she . . . ?"

"They're alive," Bill answered. "Not in the best shape though."

Mrs. Weasley cast a quick scourgify and the blood vanished, although they both were still horribly pale.

There was a crack, apparition, in the hall. No one seemed to hear it except Hermione. She bit her lip. Someone had to check.

"Episkey," Mrs. Weasley's voice shook the first time she said the spell. "Espiskey." Her voice grew stronger. She was focusing now. "Episkey." Mr. Weasley used the spell on the child. "Episkey." Mrs. Weasley again, Hermione realized that she'd just been standing there, watching as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley healed Ginny and the child.

She hurried into the hall – there, standing wide-eyed and alone, was Nappy.

"Nappy?" Hermione's mind had trouble catching up with the obvious fact that the elf had returned.

"Miss can help Master? How help? How not break rules?"

"Yes, Nappy. We've done this before. There are ways to use spells instead of potions. It can be done."

Nappy bit her own lip. "Nappy mustn't disobey Master."

"Of course not. I'm not asking you to disobey. Did your master tell you not to bring me to him?"

Nappy frowned, clearly not comfortable with this idea. "No."

"What did your master say?"

"Him gave me message. Told me tell about Potter's girl."

"Yes, and you've delivered your message very well. Did he say anything else? Nappy - what did your master say?"

"No. Him too hurt. Him not talk. Him say . . . ." Nappy's eyes grew wide with realization. "Him say 'Help me.'" Nappy gave Hermione an excited smile.

"And you are helping him." Nappy nodded eagerly. "Can you wait here? I'll gather some supplies."

"Yes. Miss must help Master."

A rush of victory swept over Hermione, followed immediately by a flash of fear. She was no healer and she wouldn't even be able to use the usual healing potions. She shook her head to banish those thoughts. There was no one else available and she was just going to have to do the best she could.

She closed her eyes and began planning, making a mental list. After a few moments she opened her eyes and was surprised to see that Nappy was there, completely still, obviously waiting for her. The elf seemed to understand that Hermione needed to think this through.

Hermione peeked into the kitchen. "Professor," she whispered.

Professor McGonagall looked over, then hurried around the table to her.

"Professor, Nappy came back. She's taking me to . . . him."

"I'll get you Severus's books." She waved her wand while saying what appeared to be a complex summoning charm. Two books and a little metal box flew into the kitchen from somewhere and into her hands. She handed them immediately to Hermione, who opened the top book. It was a handwritten journal, with familiar handwriting - the Half Blood Prince's handwriting.

The second book made Hermione frown – "Elementary Healing Potions." Wasn't the whole point that potions couldn't be used?

Professor McGonagall noticed her expression. "There's a chapter in the back of that one that discusses spells that can be used when the potions are unavailable." The professor gestured to the small box. "This has some Muggle painkilling pills. Professor Snape swore by them. Check his notes to see which ones are which." Hermione opened it. Sure enough there were more of the small white pills she'd seen in Snape's quarters, as well as some larger blue pills and some small round light pink ones.

Hermione summoned her purse and slipped the books and the box of pills into it. The undetectable expansion charm meant that there was plenty of room. Hermione jabbed her wand into the air and concentrated as she summoned one more book from her own quarters.

Should she go? Someone was waiting, needing healing, somewhere, but she had to know that Ginny was okay.

She glanced back into the hall at Nappy, still waiting.

Ginny shifted. It was such a slight movement, but Harry saw it too. He was still standing a couple of feet back from Mrs. Weasley, but Hermione could see the hope in his eyes from here. Then Ginny made a sound, not quite a moan, more of a breath, but it was something. It was enough. She was alive. She'd be okay.

"Professor – can you tell the others I . . . was called away?" With the professor's nod, Hermione rejoined Nappy in the hall. "Let's go," she said.

Nappy reached out for her. "Nappy is sorry, Miss, but is being best if you is blindfolded." Nappy snapped her fingers and Hermione saw only darkness. She couldn't help but be impressed at the elf's smooth magic. She meant to tell the elf that it was okay, but before she could speak she felt the pull of apparition. Her mind flashed to Dobby. Just as when he had apparated them away from Malfoy Manor, something felt different about house elf apparition.

"Master?" She heard the elf call softly. All she heard in reply was a noise, a faint grunt. "Master?"

Fear gripped Hermione. Why had she trusted Nappy? Where was she? Hyacinth had said Nappy was a good elf, but what reason did she have to trust Hyacinth? She tightened her fist on her wand, halfway expecting it to be yanked out of her hand.

"Master? Can Nappy be showing the Miss where she is?"

Silence. Were they playing with her?

"Master – you is saying 'help me.' Nappy is helping." There was a snap of fingers and Hermione could see.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. She was in a room, a small, comfortable room that she would have never associated with a Death Eater. One side of the room had a fireplace, a carved white mantle and mirror above it. Across the room, reflected in the mirror was a painted landscape - a white flowered tree next to a lake. There was a low red-brown leather sofa and behind it she could see a body on the floor. Nappy stood next to the body, worriedly chewing on her own fingers.

Hermione stepped forward to see more. Whoever it was lay curled in a ball, dark Death Eater robes splayed out on the floor. One more step and she saw white blond hair.

Malfoy. Of course. As soon as she saw him, she knew she'd been expecting to see him, although not like this. She went around so that she could see his face. He was flushed, his cheeks spotted vivid red. Without thinking she reached out and felt his forehead. It was shockingly hot.

Her touch provoked a quick response. He lurched away from her, clutching his arm even closer. A pained cry tore from him. The movement hurt enough to cause him to take heaving breaths, but – amazingly – he didn't seem to wake. At least, he never seemed fully conscious.

Hermione bit her lip as she watched him writhe, then still. This would never work if she couldn't get anywhere near his injured arm.

"Stupefy." She spoke the spell quietly, but it was enough for a flash of red light to burst from her wand. She glanced up at Nappy, but the elf seemed to understand that she wasn't attacking him. If she had time she could probably find a better spell, but at least this would keep him completely unconscious while she worked, even if she did something that hurt him. His head fell back and his pinked cheeks reminded Hermione to get to work.

"He's feverish," she said – to herself or to Nappy, she wasn't sure which. She started to summon her bag, then thought better of it. "Nappy, we need to move him. Can you . . . ." before she could finish asking Nappy had levitated him. "Yes, well, could you put him on the sofa?"

Nappy settled him there. Hermione sighed. House elf rights would have to wait for another day. "Nappy, can you change him into something more . . . comfortable? Then get me two cool wet washcloths, please."

Hermione pulled out Snape's notebook and his jar of pills. Skimming through the notebook she found a spell to take a temperature. She touched her wand to his head. "103.8." No wonder he felt like he was burning. She summoned a couple of analgesics from the jar, put them in his mouth, and used another of Snape's recommended spells to make him swallow them.

When she looked back, Draco was lying, now on his back, a large pillow under his head, wearing sumptuous navy silk pajamas. She smiled at herself. Why had she expected him to wear only green? She certainly didn't wear only red and gold. It was disconcerting to see how completely still he was now. She studied his chest closely to make sure that he was still breathing, and found herself letting out a breath when she saw that he was. He certainly had grown up. His chest was now broader, his arms were . . . she was getting distracted.

She glanced at her watch. She'd have to remember to check him in 20 minutes, see if his fever had gone down.

"Nappy, can you tell me when 20 minutes has passed?" Nappy nodded eagerly. Hermione dug into her bag again, this time pulling out an anatomy textbook that had belonged to her parents. She'd taken a few books from their library when she closed up their house, mostly because she missed them, but tonight this would be useful.

Nappy held the washcloths out to her. She laid one across his forehead, and put one behind his neck, marveling at the lush cotton. Of course, even his washcloths would be luxurious. She didn't know if they would actually help bring his fever down, but her mother had always done that for her, and they'd felt so cooling. Of course, he was out cold so it probably didn't matter anyway.

He had a thin line of blood running down his face. She pulled his mouth open. It seemed fine. She closed it again. He must have bitten his lip. "_Scourgify_." At least he didn't look gruesome any more.

He was still cradling his arm. She'd have to deal with that soon. First, she wanted to make sure she wasn't missing anything else. It would be foolish to fix his arm and miss the large knife sticking out of his back.

Nope. No knife.

"Nappy? Is it just his arm? Are there other injuries?"

"Nappy is not seeing any. Master is getting home holding his arm. Master's clothes had no other rips or blood."

Hermione smiled. Were all house elves this competent? Or was this another case of the Malfoys only having the best of everything? No matter.

Time to deal with his arm. She reached out, then remembered her parents' dental practice. She didn't have any gloves to wear, but she scourgified her hands and arms up to her elbows. Now that he was unconscious she could pull his left arm away from its position, tightly protecting his right hand and arm. She recoiled for a moment as his injured limb became visible. No wonder that hurt.

It was hardly recognizable as a human hand - enormously swollen, so much so that the skin ballooned, shiny and tight. Mottled shades of black, blue and purple were mixed with harsh red slashes where the skin was broken. Some of the many cuts and scrapes were already puffy and white. In a couple of places pus was oozing out of wounds, with the repulsive smell of infected flesh. Even though his fingers were bloated, she could still see that they were unnaturally bent, misshapen. What they done to him to break every one of his fingers, some in multiple places?

Hermione heard a soft squeak and looked over to see Nappy peeking in horror through her own fingers.

"It's okay, Nappy. We can fix this." Immediately, she realized she might be lying. She could certainly do some things to help, but would she be able to fully heal this mess? It was his right hand too. She'd vaguely noticed during school that he was right-handed, since Goyle was left-handed so they always let him sit of the left side of their row. If only she'd spent more time reading up on healing. If only there was a healer, someone, anyone, available to help. With the attack on St. Mungo's there wouldn't be any healers available, especially not for an injured Death Eater.

There would be no help. She would have to do this, she and Nappy that is.

First to deal with the infection. His arm was filthy. That wasn't helping. She cast a scourgify, levitated his arm so that she could scourgify the underneath, then did another one on the back of his hand and arm, where most of the cuts were, just for good measure.

Next – antibiotics. If there weren't any antibiotics in the jar, maybe she could get Nappy to fetch some, well, steal some. A quick glance through Snape's list told her to look for a large white pill. She found one and spelled him to swallow it. That would have to be enough for now.

She levitated his arm again, to get a good look at his palm and the inside of his wrist. Other than the discoloration and puffiness, this side didn't look too bad. She gingerly began to set his arm down, then called "Nappy, can you get me a towel?" Nappy's response was instantaneous, and she slipped the plush towel under his arm.

After the cleaning she could see that there was something, stone fragments – brick, maybe – in a few of the larger wounds. She concentrated on each separately, waved her wand and said "Accio." After the first one she averted her eyes, so she didn't have to watch the chunks of rock emerge from his skin. Nappy silently held out a rubbish bin and she dropped the pieces in it.

Time to look at Professor Snape's book again. "_Episkey"_ was a spell she knew, but according to this it was best for flesh wounds and simple fractures. In a compound fracture the bones might not be set correctly. She tried a recommended spell – "_osteo revelio_" - and her eyes grew wide as his bones glowed through the skin. A live x-ray, she marveled, then she looked more closely, and had to close her eyes for a moment. So many of the bones were broken. How would she know how to fix them, what they should look like? She began to flip through the anatomy book, then froze as she had an idea. His left hand would be a perfect illustration of what the bones of his hand had looked like before, what they would look like again. She levitated it and reached over to pull back the loose pajama sleeve.

A foul black snake leered at her from his inner wrist. She pulled back, then closed her eyes. He was a Death Eater. How could she be surprised? It was foolish, but she performed a quick glamour to conceal the thing. She couldn't let it distract her right now. Then she cast another "_osteo revelio_," and smiled as the perfect, healthy bones of his healthy hand were revealed. This would be her model.

She was just about to perform her first "_reparo_," Snape having reassured that it would work on human bone, when she frowned. Her parents had discussed the most gruesome things over dinner. Now she was grateful. One thing she remembered was that nerve damage was more serious than bone or tissue damage. She'd have to check for that. She bit her lip and gambled – "_nervosa revelio_," then smiled as the nerves now glowed, also white. With a bit of concentration she was able to get them to show blue, so that she wouldn't confuse them with the bones. She could already see that some of the nerves were crushed. She whispered "_reparo_," and watched in awe as one nerve repaired itself.

Another quick look at the anatomy book and she sighed. She'd also have to deal with the tendons, arteries, veins, muscles. Nearly everything was damaged.

"Nappy, could you get me some tea – black and strong, please?" It was going to be a long night.

******************  
Hermione allowed herself to lean into the cool washcloth that Nappy was wiping over her brow. She sat back and looked at the stately grandfather clock. It had taken almost 4 hours, but the healing was done. His hand looked so much better, still discolored, but almost all of the swelling was gone, the infection cleared, the fingers now straight and elegant. The sad thing was that she was going to have to make it look bad again, at least enough to fool Voldemort, to conceal the fact that he had been healed.

As tired as she was, there were a few more things she needed to do before she rested. The first was to wake him. Part of her would rather just leave him unconscious – that was so much simpler - but for all she knew he could be summoned at any moment.

"_Ennervate._" Hermione sat back and waited, but – nothing. Then he made a vague humming sound and shifted slightly. He was just asleep. She'd let him rest for now. Pain like he'd been in was exhausting.

Normally, she would bandage him, but that couldn't be done, not if the healing was to stay a secret. Instead, following Professor Snape's recommendation, she said "_petrificalus partialus_," and carefully immobilized his forearm and wrist. It would work like an invisible cast, with the added advantage of making his movements seem awkward, as though he was still in great pain.

It was time to begin to artistically recreate his injuries. She muttered "_pigmenta_," concentrated and began to add random purple splotches, focusing intently when she wanted to change the color, making some lighter, some darker. "_Engorio_," caused the arm to swell again, although she didn't make it as large as it had been before. She didn't want to damage the skin, or make it hurt too much.

As she thought of pain, she realized that she should probably give him some more painkillers. They wore off after 4 hours. She poured a couple into her hand, then looked back, directly into a pair of now opened dark grey eyes.

**AN – Sorry about the cliffhanger, but this chapter is already insanely long.**


	15. Chapter 15 - Mystery Girl

**Disclaimer – Didn't write the Harry Potter books, not making any money off of this, all just for fun, etc.**

15 - Mystery Girl

Something was different. No – everything was different. Where was he? Where had the pain gone?

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. He knew the answer to that question. There was only one way out of the pain he'd been in.

A deep sadness clutched at his chest. He'd prayed for death, begged for it to end, but now he felt only failure. His mother had died so that he could bring down the Dark Lord and he had failed. He'd missed her – God, how much he'd missed her – but he didn't want to face her now. There'd be sweet forgiveness in her face, but they'd both know he'd let her down.

He heard a faint humming, someone was humming a vague tune, while doing something to his arm. He couldn't remember his mother humming. Maybe she was happier here. Strange, most of the pain was gone, something he'd thought would never happen, but there was still a dull ache. Would he still ache after death? He felt a gentle magic slide over his wrist. That felt good. What was she doing?

He opened his eyes. The light was dimmer than he'd expected. There was someone there, someone female, a halo of gold around her head.

"Mother?" Who else could it be?

"No," was the only answer.

He didn't know much about being dead, but he was beginning to wonder . . .

"Where am I?" Without really meaning to, he spoke the question aloud.

"I'm not sure." What a strange answer. "Nappy?"

He closed his eyes again, trying to find the energy to make sense of this. Why was Nappy here? Was she . . . .

"Master!" He heard the joy in her squeaky voice. At least she hadn't changed.

"Nappy," he answered. He was so tired.

"Master, you is at your cottage. Nappy is bringing Miss to help you. Master said to help you." So he wasn't dead.

"Yes, Nappy. Thank you." Then why - how - had the pain stopped? Maybe the girl, not his mother, would know. He forced his eyes to open.

She was looking at him now. Not a halo, just a lot of hair. He knew her. At least, somewhere in his brain he did. He'd ask her name. "Miss . . .?" Then he found it. The pieces slipped into place. "Granger?"

How could she have gotten here? There were wards. "Yes," she said, but he'd known she would. She was being unusually quiet. Odd circumstances and all that.

"You healed me?" She hadn't known he'd be killed for this. At least she could get away. Maybe she'd hide Nappy, too. She had a thing for house elves.

"Yes." He couldn't be mad. The pain had stopped. That was worth anything.

"Thanks." She was kind. He'd almost forgotten that people like that existed. She'd be sad when she found out that kindness wasn't allowed. For the first time, he knew something she didn't know. It was going to kill him. Why did he find that funny?

"You know you're going to have to kill me now. I'll trust you to do it quicker than he would."

"No, Malfoy, I don't think so." He started to protest, but she held up a hand. He was so tired that he just let her go on. "We've been using . . . ." She hesitated, deciding how much to trust him. She bit her lip and went on. "We've been using Professor Snape's notes on how to work around Snake Eyes and his 'no healing allowed' rules." She gestured to an old journal, which looked like other journals his godfather had kept. How had she gotten that?

"Snape? Why would he . . . ."

"You didn't know he was a spy?" Her face was so open. She was surprised that he hadn't known.

"No." If he hadn't been so very tired, finding out that Professor Snape was a spy would have rocked him to the core. Or would it? He wondered. The Professor had never been a mindless Death Eater, but Draco had though his loyalty went no further than his own skin. He'd been wrong.

"I guess I have a lot to catch you up on." She smiled gently at him. When was the last time he'd seen a smile like that? Then a look of worry passed over her face. "You aren't going to punish Nappy, are you?" What was she talking about? His mind had wandered.

"What? No. Why would I?"

"No reason. I mean, she was nervous about bringing me here, but I think she . . . ."

"No. Of course not. She did what I asked her to do." An alarm went off in his head. "Wait! Did she deliver the message? Did they find Potter's girl?"

"Yes. Shh . . . calm down. Sit still. They found Ginny, and some Muggle child, too. They were kind of beat up, bloody, but okay."

"Thank God. If the Dark Lord got a hold of her . . . ."

"I know. We owe you."

"Potter owes me."

"Is that what you want?"

"Sure, if he pays back his debt by killing the old bastard."

"That he's more than willing to do."

The whole time they talked Granger was pausing to mutter spells over his arm. His mind was swimming with the implications of Snape's double life. She did that spell again, the one that brushed softly over his skin. Not deep enough to be a healing spell.

"Granger? What're you doing with me?" That didn't come out like he meant it to.

"Excuse me?"

He lifted his right arm slightly and, luckily, she caught on.

"Oh, doing to your arm. That's easy. You're not supposed to be healed. He's going to summon you, isn't he?"

Draco nodded. How did she know that?

"I'm fixing your arm so that he'll think you haven't been healed."

"How?" He lay back and marveled as she explained the many things that she was doing to recreate his injury, all of them without any potions that could be traced. No potions. He frowned. Recreating his injuries was one thing, but where had the injuries that were there before gone? Surely some of his bones had been broken. He'd seen his fingers. They looked broken, not to mention how they felt. So he asked.

"Wait. Granger. Slow down. How did you heal me in the first place?"

"Oh, that. I used Professor Snape's notes, well, his notes plus my parents' anatomy book, and some various things I remembered from their dental practice. Have you were used "_osteo revelio_"?"

Maybe if he wasn't so tired he could focus on all the new spells she'd used. Maybe not. It wasn't just that she was brilliant though. His mind could barely wrap around what she'd done for him. He felt strange, almost dizzy. He couldn't understand what was going on.

She was still explaining his injuries and cure. "The nerve damage was actually quite . . . ."

"What time is it?" he interrupted.

"Now? It's just after eleven."

"What time did Nappy go over to Grimmauld Place?"

"I don't quite know. The first time 5:00 or so, the second time it was probably closer to 6:30." He turned his face away from her, toward the back of the couch.

"Draco? What's wrong? Are you feeling okay?" She reached over and laid her hand across his forehead. She'd always had such lovely fingers. "No fever. Are you in pain?"

"No. I'm just trying to figure out how this happened to me."

"You don't remember? It must've been at the orphanage, and just after. From what Professor McGonagall said . . . ."

"No, I remember my 'punishment.' I wish I didn't." He rolled back over and stared at her as though she were a particularly difficult line of runes. "What I don't get is how, why, you'd do all this for me."

"I'm your handler. I need to keep you alive."

"Right. So you worked on my arm for . . . what . . . 4 hours? More?"

It made no sense, but Hermione blushed, her cheeks blooming with the most perfect shade of pink.

"I don't know. I guess. It was just what anyone would do."

"Sure. So if Weasley'd found me here, almost dead on the floor, he'd have spent the next few hours of his life patching me up? Just like you did."

"Ron? Well," she let out a lovely little laugh. "No, I guess not, but he's different. He hates you, and he wouldn't even spare that kind of time, hours and hours, for . . . someone else." She'd changed what she was going to say at the last minute, but it didn't matter. He'd seen it on her face. She looked away from him, digging in her bag of books, embarrassed, wanting to hide what she'd almost said.

"He wouldn't have done it for you?" Draco pushed her.

"No." Her voice, usually so quick, so sure, wavered. She was hurt.

"He's an idiot. And you . . . you are the . . . Ow!" Draco sat up, in his haste forgetting about his injury, reaching over to clutch his burning left arm with his still healing right hand. "What the . . . where is it? What did you do?"

"Oh, that. Sorry." She waved her wand and his Dark Mark reappeared, now writhing and glowing green. Why had she hidden it? No time for that now.

"God. Two minutes. I'm being summoned." He couldn't breathe. There was just no air.

"Draco. Relax. You'll be fine. Listen. Focus." She grabbed his face and looked him in the eyes.

He nodded. "Okay. Go."

"Two more spells. _ ._" Her wand flashed over him, twice. He pulled back, feeling as though an oven door had opened in his face.

"What . . .?"

"The _calidus_, makes you warmer, basically I gave you a fever again. Sorry." He shook her off. It was fine. "The other, you're right-handed." It wasn't a question. How did she know that? She kept going. "_Ambidextrius,_ makes your left hand as competent as your right."

"Amazing." No time to marvel now. "It's almost time. My wand?" Where was it? He couldn't go anywhere . . . .

"Relax. It's here. Okay, so you're ready. Oh, my gosh. You're in your pajamas."

He waved his wand, a quick changing charm and he was back in his Death Eater robes, his pajamas folding themselves neatly on a nearby chair.

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, pulling himself together. He owed her so much. Now he needed to be ready to face the Dark Lord, not to mention Dolohov, Greyback, . . . .

"Wait!" He had a moment of panic. This could doom them both. "He'll smell you. He'll know I was with you." Hermione looked at him blankly. He was almost out of time. The apparition would happen at any moment. "Greyback – if he's there. We need to cover your scent."

Her eyes widened, comprehending. She frowned for a moment. He could almost see her mind retrieving what she needed.

"_Abolesco olere._" This time she waved her wand not only over him, but over herself and the entire room. He'd never heard that one before. How many spells did she know? "It's not ideal. I've gotten rid of all odors. That might be suspicious."

"I'll deal with it."

She bit her lip. "I should check on you later, see how your hand is . . . ."

"I'll send you a message when I get back. It's time." He needed to tell her. "Granger, look, I owe you a life . . . ." The apparition cut him off. She'd know what he meant.

He was back in the cave. He stumbled a bit, then decided to play it up, falling to his knee, rising slowly. Better if they thought he was more injured than he was, better to have them underestimate him. As he rose, he gathered his memories from this evening, tucked them away, far behind the barrier. Then he retrieved his memories, vivid memories, of pain, begging, lying on the floor. The Dark Lord would relish those.

He surveyed the room without lifting his head. There was a captive, completely bound and covered, lying just to the right of the Dark Lord's chair. All he could tell from where he knelt was that she was female, and apparently unconscious. A noise to his side alerted him to the fact that his father was sitting just past the captive, happily playing gobstones.

"Ahh. Both of my injured soldiers join us tonight."

A quick glance at another hooded figure curled on the floor nearby puzzled Draco. Another Death Eater had been punished, but who?

Whoever it was, he was in bad shape, apparently unable to stand, unable to do much more than groan.

A sharp crack and the Dark Lord appeared next to his other victim. "Hardly a fitting way to greet your Lord and Master. Perhaps a reminder is in order." He flicked his wand. The body was lifted up, then slammed back down into the floor. There was no response, except the groaning grew more faint. Draco felt bile rise up in his throat. He looked away. That could have been him. That was him, just hours ago. If she hadn't been willing to spend hour after hour healing him, if she hadn't known how to evade the rules, if she hadn't been such a skilled witch . . . . He couldn't risk thinking of her now. He pushed his thoughts away, behind the barrier. He needed to have better control. He needed . . . .

"_Crucio._"

His head jerked up. Who was being tortured?

Rosier was thrashing on the cave floor. Why? He shouldn't have let himself get distracted. What had he missed?

Wait - something was off. There was no mocking laughter from the other Death Eaters, and why was the Dark Lord doing this himself? Why didn't he pick someone to do the 'honors'? It reminded Draco of his first meeting with the Death Eaters, back when the Dark Lord used to need to show off his magic?

The Dark Lord scoffed at the trembling Death Eater. "Rosier."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Better."

Had Rosier forgotten to say "my Lord"? No one forgot that. What was going on? Draco looked around as subtly as he could. Aunt Bella had her wand drawn, almost as though she was expecting something . . . .

Rowle, Yaxley, Crabbe – they were all watching intently. They seemed to watching the Dark Lord, evaluating him. Why?

His eyes fell on Dolohov and saw that he, at least, was as confused as Draco was. Whatever had changed, whatever had happened, Dolohov had missed it too.

The Dark Lord was speaking to Rosier. Time to pay attention.

"You know Mulciber well. Do you know the name of any of his house elves?" That answered the question in Draco's mind. The huddled, groaning figure was Mulciber. Aunt Bella had said that the St. Mungo's attack hadn't gone well.

"Um . . . I can't remember . . . ." The Dark Lord's wand hand flinched and Rosier remembered. "One. Luce, my Lord."

"Luce!" The Dark Lord summoned the elf. Death Eaters all made sure their elves knew that they should answer to the Dark Lord. Draco could only hope that no one would know his elf's name to give to the Dark Lord.

The summoned elf appeared.

"Take this rubbish home with you." The elf bowed and obeyed. He either was exceptionally good at concealing emotion, or he felt no real sadness to see Mulciber's condition. With a crack the two disappeared.

It was his turn. Draco took a deep breath to calm his mind. Focus.

"Draco. I wondered if we'd see you." The Dark Lord turned and leered at him.

Draco decided to play him a bit. He pulled an injured look onto his face. "My Lord? You doubted that I would come?"

The Dark Lord's eyebrows, such as they were, raised. "I wondered if you were alive."

"Nothing else would keep me away." Such empty words. He couldn't refuse a summons. He bowed his head respectfully. "Malfoys heal quickly." The urge to look, to see if his father had reacted to the use of their name, came over him, but he didn't move his head.

"Let me see." Even healed, it was still tender, still sore. His arm resisted as he held it out to the Dark Lord. Voldemort rose and approached him, eyes eagerly taking in the swollen, injured flesh. He smacked it with his wand. Draco gasped and fell to one knee. It hurt, but he had to play up his pain. There'd been no spell – only a physical blow to test him. Slowly, he stood up again, tossing back his head. Perhaps that was too defiant, but he had to show that he wasn't broken. Not anymore.

This time the Dark Lord was obviously surprised. He delved into Draco's mind. As expected, he found the images of Draco's pain very pleasing. He lingered there, then briefly looked back at the orphanage, again pausing to survey the carnage, noting their panic when they couldn't find any live victims for him. He withdrew and Draco held in his sigh of relief. He hadn't wanted the Dark Lord poking around his memories of Potter's girl, even if she was polyjuiced.

"Your wand." Draco bowed and handed it to him. Of course, he was suspicious. He had reason to be. "_Prior Incantato._"

The spell he'd used to change his clothes flashed by first, then the soft glow of the _Hominem revelio_ and the slightly different color of the _Spiritus revelio_ – the last two spells he'd used at the orphanage. That should be enough to show the Dark Lord that he hadn't healed himself.

But the Dark Lord kept going, kept delving further back. He couldn't react, couldn't try to stop him. That would be suspicious.

"_Accio cloak."_ If the Dark Lord reached the _Portus_ he had cast, what could he say? How could he explain it? How many spells had he cast after the _Portus_?

"_Confrigo_."

The bound captive whimpered and the Dark Lord ended his review of Draco's wand. Draco's knees almost went weak with relief.

"Since you seem to be up to it, I have a job for you – a mind to plunder." The Dark Lord waved his wand and the heavy cloak over his prisoner vanished. _"Enervate."_

The black-haired witch groaned again, as she sat up, then looked up at the Dark Lord, hatred burning in her eyes. Her hair was matted with dirt and sweat and her bound wrists were bloody.

"Bellatrix has warmed her up for you, but she's been very resistant. She's said nothing of use but her name – Hestia Jones. Do you know her?"

"No, my Lord."

"I have reason to believe that she's an auror, so I'll be checking her myself. I want you to take a look first though to see if you recognize any of your Hogwarts classmates – other than the usual ones." That was bad. Was this a trap? Anything he saw and didn't report would be a problem. If he erased her memory, the Dark Lord would know. He tried to stall, so he could think through his options.

"Am I looking for anyone in particular?" He still wasn't fully recovered, wasn't at full strength.

"The Zabini boy." Draco's stomach tightened at his answer. That was bad, very bad, but he kept his reaction to nothing more than a lifted eyebrow, a subtle question that the Dark Lord could answer if he wanted. "I have obtained information that we may be able to use to _persuade_ him," his voice slithered over the word, "to join us."

Draco's only response was a deferential nod, but his mind was racing. He'd have to look for something to give the Dark Lord, while erasing anything that could hurt Blaise. Did the Dark Lord suspect that they were friends? What information did the Dark Lord have?

He locked eyes with the woman, Hestia? Her fierce glare surprised him. He'd felt no guilt erasing the memories of the con artist bum, but this one would be different. He eased into her mind and was immediately assaulted by chaos. Thoughts and fragments of thoughts flew by so quickly he couldn't make anything of them. He paused to calm himself, to try to stay aloof from the images flashing around him, then to follow one with his eyes, despite its movement.

He caught a face. He knew him – Kingsley Shaklebolt. He saw a meeting in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place – with the usual horde of Weasleys, Potter, Hermione, Longbottom, that same girl with the facial scar, a few others he didn't know. He was getting the hang of grasping onto the fleeting images.

She entered a room through the floo, called out a password and was immediately doused with water – a thief's downfall. He looked around and recognized a Ministry office, probably auror headquarters given the maps on the walls.

He backed off to try to figure out why the images were flying around in such an unusual manner. Then he glimpsed part of a barrier, one just like the one he'd constructed in his own mind, but it was failing. The flashes he was seeing were glimpses of memories that were bursting through the gashes in her mental barrier. Without even meaning to, he approached the barrier and attempted to close one of the gaps. It pushed him away, but then he felt her ask – mentally – "_who are you?"_ She must have felt his attempt.

"_I'm a friend. I'm trying to help you."_ She didn't respond. He saw an image, this one still, on this side of the barrier, of screaming, of torture, and he understood. Aunt Bella had _crucio'd_ her, maybe for hours. It'd been enough to tear down her mental barriers and now her most valuable memories were not only visible, but anyone who understood the barrier technique would know exactly where to find them. He couldn't erase them all. There were too many and it would be too obvious if everything on the other side of the barrier was gone.

"_You need to get out of here. I'm about to destroy it all."_ Her message rang through his mind.

"_What do you mean? What are you going to do?"_ Did she have some sort of spell that would destroy her own mind? A memory of a bonding, an unbreakable vow appeared.

"_Tell Harry I'm sorry. He'll have to kill the bastard without me. Tell Dudley he's a good sort. Good-bye. Go."_

Draco had no idea what was going on. Maybe this was a trick to get him out of her mind and the Dark Lord would not appreciate his failure. Something in her tone told him she was serious. He pulled out of her mind.

As soon as he was out and made eye contact with the witch again, she sat up straight and said "The unicorn will never die." Her face immediately seized up, frozen, unbreathing. They all watched as she began to turn blue.

"Stop her!" the Dark Lord ordered. "Make her breathe."

Draco hit her with a _Rennervate _although he wasn't at all surprised when it didn't work. Aunt Bella tried a _Resuscito_, then they stood there, frozen, as she clawed at her own throat, then keeled over – dead, head bent at an awkward angle.

"The bitch!" The Dark Lord rounded on them, wand raised, and both of them flinched away from him. He glared down his wand at Draco, then Aunt Bella, then drew a deep breath.

"Draco – tell me you saw something useful."

"Her mind was chaos," Draco stated, as his mind sorted through what he'd seen trying to think of something that would pacify the Dark Lord, without compromising the Order. "I did see . . . I saw how she entered the Auror office at the ministry. I saw the password, but . . ."

"Surely they have more security than just a password."

"Yes, my Lord. Unfortunately, they have a thief's downfall. I could look to see whether there is any way to outsmart it." He knew there wasn't. They wouldn't be able to go into the Auror Office, even with the password.

Aunt Bella's eyes grew enormous with excitement. "My Lord, we're in!" He questioned her with his eyes. "Their thief's downfall . . . unless they've somehow gotten another . . . I took it when we raided the ministry."

Draco had to bite the inside of his lip. Of course, he should've known, should've guessed that was where she got hers.

"Excellent. We'll go in tonight . . . ."

As Draco slumped into the sofa in his cottage he couldn't remember a night with more strange and confusing events. By now, the fact that Granger had gone to great trouble to save his life was one of the more comprehensible parts of his day. Despite all her work, his hand was throbbing again, but it was 3:30 in the morning. Even if he sent her a message, she'd be asleep and wouldn't get it until after sunrise.

He let his head flop back on the sofa. The pain he was in now was just a fraction of the agony that had consumed him yesterday, but as he grew more tired it was building, aching, muddling his brain. If he could take a potion, he could be out of pain in a few minutes, but he couldn't. The few spells he could think of, he couldn't cast. The Dark Lord would be checking his wand again, soon.

He needed to sleep, but there was no way he'd be able to with this ache in his hand. Of course, he couldn't take a sleeping draught either. Nappy would be able to reach Hermione, but that was too risky. He didn't want to alert the entire order to his identity, that, and he hated being dependent on her, on anyone. Surely he could find some way to ease his own pain. Draco's eyes fell on Severus's notebook. Hermione had left it behind. He picked it up and began leafing through it. He could only skim the pages though. The pain and the many questions in his mind made it impossible to focus.

There was the mystery of the dead auror. How had she done that? How had she killed herself? All captives were charmed against suicide, but somehow, she'd done it anyway. Outsmarting the Dark Lord like that was impressive, and – from what he'd seen in her mind – she'd prevented serious damage to the Order. No matter what he could've done, there was no way he could have kept the Dark Lord from seeing some of her secrets, not while he kept his own cover. More importantly, there was no way he could have helped her without killing her himself, or – at a minimum - erasing most of her memory. He couldn't help feeling that would've been better though. She was so able, so full of life, it was so wrong to see all of her just snuffed out on the floor.

There was another question, waiting for its turn in his mind, why the change of attitude among the Death Eaters? This one he needed to find an answer to. His own life depended on it. Something had happened at St. Mungo's. What? He could ask Hermione for the Order's view of things, maybe they'd be willing to share, maybe whatever happened had been obvious. Other than that, he wasn't sure what he could do. It wasn't safe to ask too many questions in Death Eater circles. If only he could slip into someone's mind, but whose? Any of the brighter ones would feel his presence, plus someone would see if he did it when they were all together. He needed to be alone with one of them.

Mulciber. The man was almost dead. He'd pay him a visit, later, after he'd found a way to get some rest.

He also needed to warn Blaise. What he'd be warning him about he wasn't sure, but Blaise should know he was being targeted by the Dark Lord. Maybe Blaise could help him with his hand, too. Even if he didn't know all of the medical spells Hermione knew, all he needed was a good _Stupefy_.

Then he had an idea – there was a way he could do this himself, take care of his own pain. A few minutes later, he was ready. He'd gotten very good at wandless magic, this should be no problem.

His last conscious thought after he fired off the spell was that this had been a huge mistake.

**AN – Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews! I hope you enjoyed this one.**


	16. Chapter 16 - Tears

16- Tears

Hermione woke with a start. It was still dark. The other bed in the room was empty, of course. Ginny must've been taken back to the Burrow. Why hadn't anyone left her a note updating her on Ginny's condition? Harry and Ron were probably still mad at her. Mrs. Weasley was the one who usually thought of things like that, but she'd been too busy to even notice Hermione was gone. Professor McGonagall knew that she'd left. It wasn't her style to leave a note though.

She cast a _lumos_ so she could see the watch on her bed stand. 4:15. Her locket was lying next to her watch. She picked it up and flicked it open. The miniature portrait of Hyacinth grumbled in her sleep. The metal of the locket was cool - no message.

Was it even safe to touch the locket? Who had sent it to her if it wasn't Hyacinth?

And where was Draco? He'd said he'd let her know when he got back. How long would a Death Eater meeting last? Surely Ginny was okay. Mrs. Weasley was very competent, although she wasn't a healer. Hermione closed her eyes, rolled over and slipped into an uneasy slumber.

Every once in a while she'd wake enough to reach over and touch the locket to see if it was warm. It would've been easier to put it on, but somehow, remembering bad experiences with the horcrux locket, she didn't trust it enough to wear it anymore. She couldn't resist checking it though.

Surely the meeting was over by now? If Ginny wasn't okay, someone would've still been up, wouldn't they? Malfoy was such a jerk. He'd forgotten his promise to let her know that he was okay.

Unless he wasn't okay. If Professor McGonagall was wrong . . . if the Dark Lord had caught on to Professor Snape's tricks . . . perhaps before he killed Snape, he'd plundered his mind and learned all of his secrets . . . or maybe she just hadn't done it right . . . the painted on bruises hadn't been convincing . . . she had left his fingers all straight . . . the Dark Lord must have known . . . would she just never hear from him again, never find out exactly what painful death he'd endured? . . . or maybe his body was already thrown outside on the pavement like those poor Muggles had been . . . .

At 6:35 she gave up on sleep, although she refused to look out the window to check the pavement. Maybe someone else would be up, someone who'd know about Ginny. She cast a silencing spell on the creaky staircase and hurried down to the kitchen. She put a pot of tea on, knowing she could heat the water instantly with magic, but not wanting to. She was trying to kill time.

How long would it be before someone else got up? At least now she could have some uninterrupted time to read Professor Snape's book.

A half hour later she was practicing the wand motions for a spell version of a basic pain-killing potion. She wasn't sure if she was getting them right. She was pretty good at repeating wand motions after seeing them demonstrated. Following a hand-drawn illustration was much less certain. It didn't help that this whole area of magic seemed somewhat dodgy to her.

"Whoa – it's too early in the morning to lose a spleen!"

Hermione jerked her hand back. "Neville! I'm so sorry. Did I get you?"

"No – I'm fine. Good morning to you too."

"Good morning. Sorry, I was just . . . ." Hermione gestured vaguely with her hand, but she didn't think she should share details about Professor Snape's spells. Neville didn't press her for information. "The kettle's hot if you want tea."

"Thanks. You disappeared last night. Everything okay?"

"Um, . . . yeah, . . . kind of." Hermione hated this, all this secrecy and evasion. "I'm working on a project. I can't really tell anyone about it. I had to go. Did Ginny ever wake up? Was she okay?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine. Thank God they found her." Neville yawned as he poured his water for the tea. She felt a rush of relief. She should have just gotten some sleep, not worried about nothing, although there was still . . . .

"It was that bastard Malfoy. He was in there slaughtering children."

Hermione opened her mouth to say . . . something. What? There was nothing she could say.

"Okay. I know they weren't real children – that was brilliant by the way – but he didn't know that. He was going to take Ginny and the one child back to Snake Eyes for whatever sick games . . . ."

It was so unfair. Neville was so wrong, but she couldn't tell him what really happened, couldn't tell him what Draco had done for them.

"Did you stay here last night?" Hermione interrupted him. She couldn't contradict him, but she didn't have to listen. She frowned. Where had Neville had been living lately? Hogwarts? His grandmother's?

"Yeah. I went with them when we returned the little girl. We left her in a Muggle hospital, modified her memory and all. They all just think she and her chaperone were hit by an out of control motorbike – hit and run."

"Still pretty awful for her then."

"Not nearly as bad as the truth." Hermione had to agree with that. "Anyway, there's going to be an Order meeting this morning, 8:30, so I figured I'd just stay here. Couldn't sleep though. Ron snores."

Hermione laughed. Everyone complained of Ron's snoring. She and Harry had long ago learned to just silence him. "Where was Harry? Didn't he . . . ."

"He spent the night at the Burrow. The Weasleys took Ginny back there." Hermione nodded. Of course.

"Neville, I'm been meaning to ask you – any luck with the wolfsbane?"

Neville wilted so quickly that an answer wasn't necessary, but he explained anyway. "No. I just don't get it. I know they always say that wolfsbane resists being cultivated, but I can't figure out why. What am I doing wrong? We'll keep working on it. How're your stores holding out?"

She couldn't bring herself to tell him how bad things were. "We've still got some." That was true, just not enough for the amount of Wolfsbane Potion that Hagrid wanted, that Hagrid needed. Hagrid wouldn't say why. Was he raising werewolf pups? Every month he wanted more. "I'm sure you'll figure it out," she said, but she couldn't meet his eyes. "So how're you? Did you go to St. Mungo's?" Hermione had almost forgotten that she'd never gotten details on how they got out.

"Yeah, that was the strangest raid ever. I thought we were dead, walked right into a trap, then somehow, it all fell apart for them. We didn't even lose anybody, although I guess there was a patient who was . . . ."

There was a crack of apparition in the hall. In the early morning quiet it made them both jump.

"I'll check that," Hermione said, her heart suddenly clenched with fear and hope.

As soon as she saw Nappy she knew the news was bad "Miss! Miss, I is needing you! Master is needing more 'help me.'" Hermione's stomach churned. He wasn't even recovered from his 'punishment.' How much more could he take?

"Nappy, it's okay. I'll come. Just let me get my bag." Even as she spoke her bag was coming down the stairs to her. "What's happened?"

"Miss – Nappy no understand. Was mess, Master hurt, but bells no ring."

"Let's go."

Hermione's wand was drawn even before they reached the cottage. The last time the only thing out of place had been Draco, on the floor. This time, she could tell there had been a battle. The sofa was overturned, and she could see Draco lying across the back of it. For a moment she froze, all thought knocked out of her brain.

"Miss? Miss? Master breathing. No wake up." Nappy's whisper forced her to focus, to think again.

He must have been blasted and the force of his fall knocked over the furniture. Was anyone still here? The mirror above the mantle had been knocked down and shattered. There was a scorch mark on the wall that had taken out part of the frame of the peaceful landscape painting, another scorch mark marred the wall near the front door. The door itself was fine, closed. Was it still locked?

She was thinking like a Muggle. A locked front door didn't mean much in a wizard house.

There was no sign of anyone still here – no other bodies, but what if they were disillusioned? She cast a _Hominem Revelio – _no one. "Were you here, Nappy? What happened?"

"No Miss. Nappy at Manor. Nappy bring breakfast." She pointed to a silver tray, laden with food, and waiting on an end table. "Miss – there is wards. If Master is danger, bells ring, bells at Manor."

Hermione kept her wand up and stepped carefully over to Draco. He was out cold, his arms above his head on the floor. Maybe he would have some answers. _"Ennervate."_

He groaned and shifted, sliding off the back of the sofa, then yelped as his weight went onto his injured hand. Hermione moved forward to help him, but she wasn't sure what to do.

"What time is it?" he muttered, even as he was pulling up the sleeve on his left arm, checking his mark.

"Almost 7:30. Who was it? What happened?"

His mark wasn't glowing. He leaned back onto the still-overturned sofa, and ran his left hand over his face.

"Nappy? Did you bring tea?" Nappy nodded vigorously. Hermione couldn't believe him. Tea?

"Draco, we need to know. Who was it? They're gone now, but they could come back. This isn't safe."

"Relax. We're safe. There's no need to be uncivilized."

Hermione felt the flush of anger rise over her face. She hated being told to '_relax._' "That's rich. A Death Eater telling _me_ to be civilized. Tell me are you civilized when you . . . ."

His eyes were like ice as he cut her off. "The wards are fine. I need some tea before my brain can function."

Hermione frowned as she peered nervously around the room. "What do you mean? This is serious. We need to figure out what happened, where they went, who did this."

"I am aware of the serious nature of my situation, but the idiot who did all of this does not want to talk about it right now."

She froze, then lowered her wand. He tossed his blond fringe out of his eyes and went on. "I'll make you a deal. Make the pain stop first, then I'll explain everything." Nappy had levitated his tea to him and he took the cup with his left hand, leaving the saucer floating in the air. He closed his eyes as he savored the hot tea.

How could he just sit there, like nothing was wrong, like he owned the place. Okay, well, he did, but he should care then that it'd been demolished. "Fine." Hermione hoped his insanity wouldn't get them all killed. "Give it to me." He held his right arm up a bit as she crouched down next to him. It looked horrible, but that meant nothing. "_Finite Incantatem."_ The color of the bruises faded, the swelling went down, but it still didn't look good – some infection remained and there was a large new welt running down his forearm.

"Ow! Hey, do the _'ambidextrius'_ thing again. I don't want to spill this." He gestured with his cup. It would be so easy to douse him with his own hot tea. Of course, that'd just give her more burns she'd have to heal. Did he have to work at being such a egotistical prat or did it just come naturally? How could he be so calm? She waved her wand over his left hand anyway.

She sat back on her legs and settled into healer mode. She'd just ignore the arrogant patient. The first issue was the fever. It wouldn't work to take his temperature until the full effect of the fever spell wore off. She levitated his arm over to herself, studying it carefully. "Where does it hurt?"

He raised his eyebrows at her as though he didn't believe the question. "Everywhere. It's not like it was . . . before, but it aches.."

"Here, this should help – _'confrigo.'_" He immediately began to shiver, setting his teacup down with a rattle.

"Hey, I'm freezing."

"Oops." He glared at her again, clearly not believing that had been an accident. She gave a smirk. It wouldn't hurt him to remember he needed her good will. She ended the spell, then tried again, this time with a _'confrigo partialus.'_ "That better?"

"Yeah. What's with the cold anyway?"

"It's a Muggle thing. Cold makes it numb." He frowned at her, but she ignored him. "What's this? What did you do?" She pointed to the welt.

"Baldy gave it a smack_, _testing me." She bit her lip, considering how to heal that, but he shook his head. "Just leave it. It doesn't hurt now."

She cleaned the arm and then decided it was time to check his temperature. "You're still running a fever, although it's down to 100 degrees now. Take these." She handed him another antibiotic and a couple of analgesics. He took them without question, washing them down with tea.

She began to leaf through Snape's notes, looking for the numbing spell she'd seen.

"Master? Should Nappy be fixing?" She gestured around to the general devastation.

"Not yet. Let's see if Granger can figure it out." He summoned a croissant, then marmalade and a knife, all wandlessly.

Hermione tried not to marvel at how easily he did that. Then she realized that he was looking at her expectantly. "Figure what out? Who attacked you?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember what happened?"

"Yep."

"But you won't explain it?"

"Exactly." He took a bite of his croissant and smirked at her.

She surveyed the room. His wand was still sitting on the end table next to the sofa. "The wards are working so no one broke in. You said the 'idiot' who did this is still here . . . ."

She studied the mirror. It lay broken on the floor, cracks radiating out from a point near the middle, as though it had been punched. If it had been knocked off of the wall it would've cracked evenly throughout. That meant it had been taken down before . . . .

It was starting to come together.

"You did this! You took down the mirror. You aimed a spell at it." She glanced around and saw, as she expected, his wand on the far end table. "A wandless spell. A stupefy?"

He nodded, still finishing his breakfast.

"It rebounded, much stronger than you expected. It knocked you out, knocked you over, and parts were deflected by the mirror all over the room."

"You got it in one. Twenty points to Gryffindor," he smirked. "Nappy? You can fix the room up now." He stood up and brushed off his pants as well as he could with one hand. Nappy righted the sofa first and then turned to fix the mirror.

Hermione ran a hand through her hair. "Why? Why didn't you just call me?"

"First off, we didn't figure out exactly how I should contact you. It was 3:30 in the morning. If I sent you a rune message you wouldn't get it until morning. I didn't want Nappy showing up in a roomful of Order girls. That'd lead to questions."

Hermione sighed. They'd been in such a hurry yesterday, that she hadn't explained how to get in touch with her. "I should have told you. I have a . . . locket." She wasn't sure about the locket, but he might as well know she could get messages through it. "It's got Hyacinth's picture and it's charmed to get warm if I get a message."

"What's wrong with it?" Had he always been this annoyingly perceptive?

"I don't know. I thought Hyacinth sent it, but she didn't even know about it. I'm just not sure . . . ."

"Do you have it with you?"

"No. I left it back at . . . ." She almost said 'at Grimmauld Place.' She needed to be careful, but . . . . Hermione frowned at him. "Wait a minute. How did Nappy know where to find me? How did you know?"

"Granger, you have lousy security."

"No. You're wrong. We're careful. We . . . ."

"You're all secret keepers now, right?" She frowned and nodded. "That apparently included a piece of scum named 'Mundungus.' The Dark Lord captured him. If I hadn't erased the scum's memory he would've seen your headquarters in his mind."

"What happened to Mundungus?"

Draco just shook his head, then his face darkened. "There's something else, someone else, I need to tell you about. Did you know a Hestia? Hestia Jones?"

"Hestia? Where is she? Is she captured? When?"

He shook his head again. "She was captured. She died. She did some amazing thing. You know, all captives are charmed against suicide, especially ones like her." Hermione's eyes grew wide. Did Shaklebolt know this? "He thought he'd get all sorts of stuff from her. She was an auror and all, and I saw her mind – he would have. She knew lots of things and her barrier was broken. Then she said some weird thing – something about a unicorn – and she just stopped breathing. Just like that. Do you know what that was? Was it a spell?"

Hermione shook her head. She still couldn't quite believe that Hestia was dead. It didn't seem possible. "A unicorn? What?" None of this made any sense to her. "I don't know. We're not aurors. Maybe they know something, some way . . . ."

"Okay, but Granger, there's a problem. He was furious after she died. He wanted something, something from her mind. I thought I could give him something useless. I'd seen the password to the Aurors' office, but it had a thieves' downfall. I thought it was safe to tell him the password, since we couldn't get past the water, but I didn't know Aunt Bella stole it. We're going in, . . ." He hesitated, his face was impassive, but she knew he was thinking. He made up his mind. "Tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. He wants us to go in before the Order changes the password. He seems to think they won't notice Hestia's gone missing for a while. Look, you have to tell them, but try to get them to be subtle. Don't come charging right in. It can't be too obvious that you know about the raid."

"I know. We have a meeting this morning. If I hurry I might be able to catch Shaklebolt before it."

"Wait." He summoned something from the pocket of his robes, then handed her an elaborate silver key. "Use this. It's a portkey. It'll bring you here so you can get here without Nappy."

"I've got to get back soon then. How's your arm?"

"Still achy."

"That's not good. How much sleep did you get last night?"

"I dunno – almost 4 hours."

"That's not enough. You wouldn't have blasted the room apart if you hadn't been tired and in pain." Draco started to interrupt, but Hermione talked over him. "We need you at your best. You need to get some sleep. There's a spell here – it's a spell form of a pain-killing potion, but I'm not sure if I've got the motions right."

She summoned the journal over to him and showed him Snape's drawing. "Let me see. Show me the wand motion." She studied the picture one last time and then showed him what she'd been practicing earlier. "No, it's more like this." He showed her the motion with his wand. She frowned at him. "I'm more used to Severus's drawings than you are. I've seen them for years."

She did the motion again. "Is that it?"

"Better – but don't slow down at the end there. Finish with a jab." She did it again and he nodded.

"Are you ready? I'll try it."

"I guess pain is making me desperate. Give it a shot."

"Here, sit down again. Put your arm up on the back of the sofa, like that." She took the cold spell off and cast the petrifying spell. It would help with the pain and keep his arm still so she could try Snape's spell. She ran over it again in her head, checking her memory with the sketches. Draco shook his head and laughed at her thoroughness.

She took a deep breath and said "_torpentem_" while flourishing her wand, making sure to end with a jab, except that perhaps she overbalanced a bit and did too much of a jab. Or maybe she did the whole motion too vigorously. Whatever the cause, Draco fell back into the sofa, completely unconscious. Hermione started to revive him and then thought, why? He wanted to get some sleep. This wasn't exactly the plan, but it would work.

"Nappy? Can you stay with him a bit, watch his mark and wake him if it moves?" Nappy nodded. Hermione went ahead and finished all of the cosmetic spells she needed to do to make his arm look sufficiently injured, although she went just a bit lighter on all of them on the theory that each day his arm would improve just a bit. When she was done, she looked at the clock. It was nearly 8:30. There'd be no time to catch anyone before the meeting. She'd have to talk to Shaklebolt afterwards. Did he know about Hestia? She didn't want to have to be the one who told him.

She apparated onto the front step of Grimmauld Place and hurried into the kitchen. Everyone was just getting seated and she was annoyed to see that Harry and Ron hadn't saved her a seat. Not only that, but Harry caught her eye and glared at her, his own eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Great. Another thing that she couldn't fully explain, although the part she couldn't tell him only had to do with her role in finding Ginny. He was mad because she took her in the first place so he might not care, not yet. She found an empty seat next to Bill Weasley.

Ron sat next to Harry, resolutely staring at a spot on the wall near the door. The set of his jaw told her he was with Harry on this - mad at her because Harry was. Why couldn't they see, why wouldn't they see, that Ginny was not a puppet? She made her own decision. Hermione bit down on her own teeth to choke back the tears that threatened. She was tired. It'd been a long night.

Kingsley came in, talking to Professor McGonagall and smiling. Hermione sighed. One look told her that he didn't know about Hestia yet. Great. The room was packed now. Hermione started a "to do" list to keep herself from looking at Harry and Ron and to stop the voice in her head imagining how to tell Kingsley the bad news. She usually prioritized her lists, but right now it all seemed urgent. She needed to talk to Kingsley, as soon as the meeting was over. She needed to work on that numbing spell. Could she practice on Malfoy? She had to brew as much Wolfsbane Potion as she could, then do some research into where she might find some wild-growing wolfsbane. Since Greyback had started prowling the Forbidden Forest, their main supply has been cut off, but surely there had to be another forest somewhere where it grew.

"It's good to see you all this morning. Glad so many of you could join us on such short notice." Hermione flipped the page and prepared to take notes, something she did mainly to force herself to focus. She started by noting down those in attendance, a habit from prefect meetings that seem so long ago. Her eyes swept around the room, sliding over the two obstinate boys across from her. Then her quill froze.

Hestia Jones was sitting just behind Oliver Wood. Hermione looked down, not wanting the shock on her face to be seen.

Was he wrong? Did he get the name wrong? There was only one other female auror that Hermione knew of and she has brown hair and an eye-patch. Draco definitely described Hestia. Could he have lied? But why? He almost died to save Ginny. She was going to trust him. Although maybe he'd been deceived. Old Snake Eyes wasn't above lying to his own. Could this be some sort of trap?

The only other possibility was that this Hestia was an imposter. Hermione kept her face down, but looked up through her fringe studying Hestia. She was sitting quietly in the back, looking down at her own shoes. Wasn't Hestia usually more lively and loud than that? Of course, she could be having an off day. Anyone could have an off day, but if she was an imposter wouldn't she try to stay quiet and talk very little, to draw as little attention as possible.

How could an imposter have gotten in? According to Draco the real Hestia had been captured during the St. Mungo's raid. Someone, presumably a Death Eater, would have had to have the polyjuice ready, but then, how hard would it have been to grab a hold of one of the others as they apparated to Grimmauld Place, or just listen if someone accidentally mentioned where they were going, thinking that they were among friends?

Draco was right. Their security was lousy.

And now what was she up to? Would she be reporting every word of this meeting back to the Dark Lord? What if someone said something that implicated Draco? If she herself had mentioned the planned raid at the ministry, which she had been planning to do, the Dark Lord would know there was a spy. What if she'd seen Nappy the night before? Would the elf be recognized?

Hermione's stomach lurched with fear. Could she sneak out of the meeting and go warn him? Of course not. If this was a spy the last thing she should do would be something conspicuous, something to draw attention to herself. She looked down at her blank sheet of paper – she'd taken no notes – and tried to calm herself, tried to draw deep breaths, make her heartbeat slow.

She tried to force herself to focus on the meeting, but she couldn't do it. Every other second another hazard of having a spy in the house would occur to her. Maybe she should stand up and yell "She's an imposter!" But if the spy had a portkey, she could vanish on the spot and then the Dark Lord would question how anyone had known there was a spy?

And what if there was another one? How careless had they been?

She knew her thoughts were spinning into paranoia now, or were they? Bill looked sideways at her, puzzled. His senses were heightened. He could probably smell her panic, hear her racing heart.

"Thanks again for coming. I'll need those reports by tomorrow, day after at the latest. Could all the Aurors stay? We've got a few more things to cover."

She hadn't heard a thing. She'd have to ask someone later, maybe Neville, not Harry or Ron, what she'd missed.

As soon as the others started standing, milling about, she was out the door and down the hall. She snuck into the front sitting room, and once she knew no one was watching she grabbed the portkey and in an instant she was back at the cottage.

Nappy was still standing guard, Draco still out on the sofa. Hermione paused for a moment. She'd never seen his face so calm, so relaxed, almost gentle.

"Miss? You is back. Will Miss be wanting tea?"

"No, thank you. I need to talk to Draco – alone."

Nappy didn't so much as raise an eyebrow and she vanished. Hermione bit her lip. She hadn't meant to be so rude, but there was no time for that now.

"_Ennervate."_

Malfoy stretched without opening his eyes, then flinched as he accidentally moved his healing arm.

"Draco, hurry, wake up. We have a problem." Hermione hated the way her voice sounded – high-pitched, too fast, like she was panicking – maybe because she was.

"Hermione? What? What happened? How long have I been out? What did you do?"

In her haste she'd completely forgotten that he hadn't exactly agreed to have her knock him out with that spell. "Oh, that. I guess I kind of overdid the numbing spell. It knocked you out, but I just let you sleep. Don't worry. I had Nappy watch your mark while I was gone."

"So what's got your knickers in a twist then?"

"I saw her. I went to our meeting and she was there. She must be an imposter. We have a spy. How do we know there's only one?" Hermione babbled.

"Hold on. Breathe. You saw who?"

"Hestia. Hestia Jones. She was at the meeting."

"Are you sure?" Draco sat straight up, fully awake now.

"Yes. Are _you_ sure it was her you saw?"

"Yes . . . . well, . . . wait. I've never seen her before. It was someone who said her name was 'Hestia Jones,' someone with memories of the Order, of being an Auror."

"Do you have a pensieve? Can you show me who you saw?"

"We've got one, but it's at the Manor. It can't be moved, not without . . . . look, there's an easier way. Have you ever done legilimency?"

"Yes, just once. It was a while ago. I . . . well, it wasn't very pleasant."

"Pleasant?" The smirk was back. "It's not meant to be a tea party. Give me a moment. I'll put all my other thoughts away, especially anything 'unpleasant.' I'll just leave the memory of Hestia, the one I saw." He ran his hand over his face. Hermione regretted not having Nappy leave tea, or maybe something stronger. "I'm ready." He was so calm about this. How could he just invite her into his mind?

Her wand hand shook a bit. Damn all this adrenaline. She took a calming breath, stared into his grey eyes and said _"Legilimens."_

She was there – she smelled the dank cave, her arm ached something fierce, she could feel the fear – not just Draco's but all around her, radiating off of all of them. There before her, bound, dirty, bloody and furious was Hestia Jones. She groaned as she sat up and glared at the Dark Lord.

That was her. The intensity was there. It'd been missing from the one in the meeting, the one who seemed a meek shadow of this witch.

The Dark Lord was ordering her to plunder Hestia's mind, saying he'd do it too. It was so dangerous.

Hermione felt something – a nudge. It reminded her. She'd seen enough. She wasn't sure how to end this, but she thought about leaving, thought about returning to the cottage, and there she was, safe once again and out of that hideous cave.

"That was her." Hermione reached down to make sure the sofa was there and sank down into it.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"How can you stand it? That was horrible – the smell, the fear, your arm. And what was that about Zabini? He's in danger?"

Draco leaned forward. "You got all of that from . . . just that? Thank God the Dark Lord's not as perceptive as you are."

"What? Isn't that what's supposed to happen? It was like I was you."

"No. At least it's not usually that intense. For me, it's more like watching a play. I can't believe you even picked up the Zabini thing. I'm not letting you back into my brain." He said it lightly, trying to ease her mind, but she was still shaking.

"She's dead then and the other one, who is that? What do we do? Who can we trust? I didn't tell them about the Ministry attack. I don't know who to tell. Harry's not speaking to me. Ron either. What if Kingsley knows? What if he's a spy too? Why didn't they question her?"

"Hermione, stop." He grabbed her arm. "Let's get some tea. Sort this out."

She nodded, but she could still feel the cave, still smell Hestia's blood.

"Hermione. You're not breathing. Breathe. We can do this."

She took a deep breath but then she couldn't hold it in. She turned, thinking she would get away, at least go into another room, but it was too late. A sob tore out of her, and she was crying, shaking. She couldn't stop it. It wouldn't stop. Then she was pressed up against Draco's chest, his arms holding her as she came apart.

She wasn't sure how long she'd been sobbing, when she realized that he was quietly 'shushing' her, stroking her hair, trying to calm her. She pulled back, embarrassed, her breaths still shuddering.

"I'm sorry. I . . . ."

He shook his head and reached up to catch a small glass vial he must have summoned silently. He held it up to her face and her tears were pulled into it as if by a magnet.

"What is . . . ."

"Don't ever waste your tears, Granger. They're too valuable. Come here." He stood up and motioned with his head. "I have a book you need to see."

He'd found the most perfect words of comfort to speak to Hermione - not that she would _ever_ tell him that. No need to make the biggest ego in the world any bigger.


	17. Chapter 17 - Answers

17 – Answers

"These are amazing." Hermione set down the book Draco had handed her – "Toiling with Blood, Sweat and Tears" – and reached up to the shelf toward another of the antique books, this one a bit battered, with its spine completely missing. She opened it carefully, then her eyes snapped up at him.

"You! How did you get these?" Draco stepped back without thinking, then threw his hands out in front of himself to make it into a joke. Just a moment before she'd seemed thrilled to see his personal library.

"So you know whose books these were?" He'd known she'd figure it out, but he'd thought he'd get to tease her for a bit before she put it all together.

"Yes, Professor Snape's." There was accusation in her eyes. "You were watching us."

"I was watching his rooms, not you. If you hadn't been in there pilfering his stuff I wouldn't have seen you." He crossed his arms and enjoyed her reaction to his words.

"We weren't pilfering. As far as we knew it didn't belong to anyone."

"You were wrong. I'm his heir. His things belong to me."

"Just what you needed – more stuff. How did you come to be his heir? You don't look like him." She gave him a smirk. Was he already wearing off on her?

"I'm his godson," he replied with an eye roll, suggesting that was completely obvious. "Here, let me show you . . . ." He picked up the book she had set down and quickly turned to the chapter on the storage of tears. "All you need to do is write the date on the bottle and save it. You might want to make some notes on the emotions you were feeling at the time . . . ."

"Emotions? I was crying. I was sad, obviously."

"No, not obviously. There are different kinds of sad, different kinds of tears. Here. You're the bookworm. Read it."

Hermione frowned. Draco could tell that this was not the sort of thing she expected him to know about, especially not to know more than she did. Just then he was distracted by a loud harrumphing noise. They both turned, although Draco already knew who'd made that noise – Hyacinth.

Sure enough, she was staring out of her portrait at them with an icy glare.

Draco gave Hermione a look, trying to convey to her to let him handle this. She gave him a barely detectable nod. He strode over to the portrait.

"Miss Black, my apologies. We have been incredibly remiss."

"I should say so. I have been worried out of my frame about you. The last I spoke to either of you Nappy was suddenly delivering messages and ever since then I have been completely out of . . . ."

Draco held his hand out to her, a purple flower that he had just transfigured out of his hankerchief in his hand. "Please, accept this in amends for my . . . our carelessness." He said with a bow. He heard a noise from Hermione which sounded like a stifled laugh, but he didn't turn to look at her.

Hyacinth bowed her head and gave Draco a wry smile. "Thank you ever so much, Mr. Malfoy. I'm sure you are aware that I cannot accept it."

"Yes, but I shall leave it in a vase here where you can appreciate its beauty." He summoned a tea cup from the kitchen, transformed it into a vase, then deposited the flower in it.

"Am I to assume you will no longer be needing my assistance? You've obviously been introduced to each other now." Draco had to stop to think about that. Hermione stepped up to the portrait.

"Miss Black, I can't tell you how grateful we are for your help. We were able to save an entire orphanage full of children thanks to you. We are communicating directly now, but we may need your help from time to time."

"I'm glad I could be of service." She turned from them, back to her usual pose, although Draco was pretty sure that she seemed glum about her lessened role.

By the time he'd turned back to the books, Hermione was already perusing another one. "This is amazing. This book has Snape's notes on how to make . . . ." She paused, distracted as she ran her finger down the index. Draco leaned back against a high-backed chair, laughing to himself to see how thrilled she was about a bunch of books, excited enough that she hadn't even remembered to call Snape "Professor." "It's here!"

At her exclamation, he had to move closer to see what could possibly have gotten that reaction. She looked up at him briefly, her eyes alit, her face alive with excitement. Was she always this pretty or was it the fact that she was filled with joy that made her glow? When was the last time he'd seen anyone sparkle with innocent happiness like that?

She flipped the book open to the page she was seeking. It was obvious this was a potion recipe that had been used frequently. The notes in the margins were copious, and they included several places where Severus had crossed out his own notes and made changes. The pages were also spotted with drops of . . . something. Draco didn't want to think about what might have been splashed on that book.

Hermione leaned back, and looked off into space as she asked "How am I supposed to do that?" She seemed to have completely forgotten that he was there. He reached over and pulled the book out of her hands, then skimmed through the notes in the margin.

"That explains a lot," he said.

"What?" Hermione's head snapped toward him.

"There were always rumors that Severus was seen leaving the astronomy tower late at night. Some thought he had secret trysts with Professor Sinistra." Draco waggled his eyebrows at her, and laughed as she scowled at him. "He must've been up there brewing . . . ." He looked up at the chapter heading. "He was brewing Wolfsbane Potion? But why?"

"He brewed it for Professor Lupin all through our third year."

"Severus hated Lupin. Why would he spend so much time experimenting, perfecting it for someone he hated?"

"I don't know. I never understood him at all, but he did perfect it. No one's been able to brew it anywhere close to as well as he did, although now that I've found this . . . . if we could only find more wolfsbane . . . ."

Draco sighed. He'd thought he knew Severus pretty well, in fact, he'd thought he was one of his closest, well . . . friends was too strong of a word, but at least there'd been no other students as close to the professor. Yet, he'd never suspected that he was a spy for the Order. Maybe he hadn't known him at all.

"No one knew he was a spy, you know." Hermione's voice was soft. "No one but Dumbledore."

"You knew."

"Not until the night he died." She bit her lip. "We were there, watching from under Harry's cloak, when he was killed."

"You mean during the battle?"

"No. Snake Eyes killed him, well, he had Nagini kill him. It was horrible." She turned away from him and he immediately suspected that there was more she wasn't telling him.

"What?" He wasn't about to let her leave him hanging like that.

"Maybe . . . maybe you should see it, although . . . ."

"He was my godfather. I have a right to know."

"I think you do and for more reasons than that, but it would be best if it came from Harry's memory. You said you have a pensieve?"

"I can't take it out of my father's office. Taking you to the Manor would be insanely dangerous."

"Maybe we can use the one at Hogwarts. Let me ask."

Draco paused. He couldn't believe how easily she'd agreed to that. "Thanks. By the way . . . did you say you needed some wolfsbane?"

"Yes, oh my gosh, do you have some? You have no idea . . . ."

"Calm down. Yes, I have quite a bit, here at the cottage in fact, and some more stores back at the Manor, but if this is right . . . if the potion is best when you brew it directly under a full moon, I may know a place where you could do that. I'd have to ask . . . ." He didn't want to say who he'd have to ask, but he'd been wanting to talk to Blaise anyway. "Look, I have a couple of things I need to do today . . . ."

"Wait, before you leave, we need to talk about the raid tonight. Do you think there's any way you can get it delayed?"

"No, he wants to go tonight, before anyone knows Jones is dead. Now we know why he thinks they won't notice, but how long can this imposter pull off being an Auror?"

"I don't know. Do you think whoever it is could have gotten into Hestia's mind and seen some of the passwords and such so they could fool the others?"

"Maybe. I don't know what happened to her earlier. Anyway, we're going in tonight. What difference would a delay make?"

"It's just . . . I had a bit of an idea, but we don't have time to set it up." Draco raised his eyebrows at her, suggesting she should go on. "I was trying to think of how to handle this, how to keep it from being obvious that the raid is expected. If we had time . . . it would be great to let the raid go on, uninterrupted, or maybe just show up at the very end so they don't think the Ministry is completely unprotected. We could go in earlier, clean out the sensitive information and leave some . . . some faked up information, misinformation. It's just I have no idea what we'd want that to say, what kind of misinformation we'd want to give Old Beady Eyes. That'd take time to work through."

"That's a great idea, but you're right. It'd take some serious planning. If we could do it, we could lure him out, lure him into some situation where Potter could get to him, set up an ambush, something. God, I wish we could do that. I'm so sick of him hiding out in his secret cave."

"He did come out for the St. Mungo's raid."

"But that went so badly that I bet he won't do it again for a long time. By the way, do you know what happened at St. Mungo's?"

"Not really. All I know is that they were sealed in, I couldn't even get a patronus to them. Neville thought they were dead and then he said that it all fell apart and they fled."

"Look, you're going to have to just tell Shacklebolt about the raid," he paused, noticing Hermione's frown. "Don't tell me you don't trust Shacklebolt."

"I do . . . it's just this thing with Hestia has me worried about everyone. If we have one imposter, how do we know there aren't more?"

"So, be careful. Quiz him a bit before you talk to him. It probably is a good idea to get the most sensitive stuff out of the office before we go in."

"But won't that be suspicious? Will he punish you if you don't find anything good?"

"So leave us something good, or something that seems like it could be . . . wait a minute, . . . what if you left something, something encoded, but leave it so it looks like it is very important."

"We could do that, and what? . . . Just have it be nonsense, something useless for you all to spend your time trying to decode?"

"Yeah, or maybe . . . I could volunteer to work on the decoding, . . . we could figure out later what it should say, read an encoded message, set up our trap later."

"But how would we do that? How can we make a code say what we want it to say later? Changing the message would be too risky."

"No, but use a code, something that seems to be a stream of nonsense words. Then we'll make a key, somehow let the Death Eaters think they've found the key later."

"That'd work! That'd be great. You need to convince them not to take anything from the office, just take copies, don't leave any trace that you were there. Otherwise, someone would know the coded message had been intercepted."

"Yeah, I'll have to work on Aunt Bella. She loves to destroy things, but if we make like the Order has no idea we were ever there, . . . Do you have time to put together something, something that seems like nonsense?"

As Draco apparated in front of the gates to Mulciber's house he was feeling more optimistic than he had in a long time. Too optimistic. He needed to get his head out of the clouds and concentrate. It was a good idea, but there were still a thousand things that could go wrong. First of all, Hermione had to find Shacklebolt and convince him that their idea was worth trying.

Meanwhile, he needed to get a look into Mulciber's mind and there was a very significant chance that Mulciber was already dead. He pushed his memories of this morning back into his mind, behind the barrier once again, shook back his cape and went back into Death Eater mode. Somehow he'd found that putting memories behind his own barrier dimmed his emotions, made him less aware of the details of what had happened, although he hadn't forgotten it.

Luce opened the door, his face implacable as usual. Draco demanded to see his master then cut off any possible objections. "My Master does not like when his plans are delayed." Luce dutifully led the way to the front parlor. Mulciber lay in a heap on the floor in the center of the carpet. His house elf had certainly not gone to any effort to increase his comfort. It took Draco a moment to establish that he was, in fact, still breathing, then another couple of moments to steel himself against the stench in order to get close enough to make eye contact.

He didn't touch Mulciber, but used his wand to roll him onto his back. From that position he could see an ugly slash down the skin of his torso, just visible beyond the torn clothing. It didn't appear deep, in fact, with proper healing it wouldn't have been a terribly significant wound, but – like Draco's arm – it was infected and festering. The smell of rotting flesh made Draco take a step back. Then he had an idea. It took him a moment to remember it, but then he cast the spell - "_Abolesco olere._" He breathed in, carefully at first, then more deeply. All odor was gone, amazing.

Muliciber must have sensed the difference. His eyes flickered open. "Malfoy? What?"

Draco didn't waste any explanations on him, but delved immediately into his mind. He hurried past the most recent memories of thrashing, moaning, agony, and found his recollections of St. Mungo's. He didn't want to miss anything significant so he went all the way back to the cave, then as soon as Mulciber had portkeyed into St. Mungo's began siphoning off a copy of the memory. He didn't have time to examine it; he'd do that later. He just took it.

The whole process just took a few minutes, then he was out, back in Mulciber's parlour. Mulciber barely noticed him as he stood back up. The man was nearly gone.

Draco turned to leave, then "Malfoy, please." Mulciber's voice was barely audible. Draco turned back. "Please, make it stop. End it. Please." If Draco hadn't felt the exhausting effects of endless pain himself he wouldn't have believed that arrogant, brutal Mulciber could beg like that. He'd never seen the man do anything kind, anything merciful. Mulciber didn't deserve his help, but then again, did he deserve Hermione's help? Was there even anything he could do to help?

He couldn't heal him. His wand would be checked again for healing spells. Even the Avada Kedavra, which would probably be welcomed, wouldn't be allowed. If he could do it wandlessly, then maybe, but he still needed his wand for a spell of that power. He really had a very limited spectrum of spells he could do without a wand, although _"stupefy"_ was definitely one of them. All it would do would be to knock Mulciber out until the end came, but at least it was something.

Draco looked around, making sure that Luce wasn't lurking nearby. He spoke as softly as he could – "_stupefy_," then quickly left the house.

Now to see Blaise. Once he was out of the front gate, he pulled his broom out of his pocket and enlarged it. Blaise's stepfather's estate wasn't too far and the broom ride would help clear his mind. Once again, he had a slight headache from the lurking presence of unexamined thoughts.

Hermione was supposed to meet him later. She'd given him one of her charmed coins so that he could contact her easily. Maybe he should just let her do legilimency on him, watch Mulciber's memories with him in his own head. He frowned. Why was he so willing to let her into his mind again? Normally, he hated having legilimency done to him. It always felt like an invasion and, even though he could hide his thoughts, he always had a vague feeling of being dirty afterward, as though he'd been tainted by the presence of another in his mind. That feeling was acute after the Dark Lord's invasions, but he'd felt it even when Severus was first teaching him legilimency.

But not when Hermione did it. Bizarrely, having her read his thoughts had calmed him, felt soothing, almost as though sharing his memories, even painful ones, had taken away some of their sting. That was ridiculous. Not to mention that if she saw his memories uncut, she'd probably never be able to look at him again without her stomach turning. Even if she thought she knew what it meant to be a Death Eater it was a far different thing to see it. She claimed to be able to feel what he felt, too. He'd had feelings he never wanted her to experience.

Why did he feel like she was turning his life upside down? He'd been almost certain she was his contact in the Order, but now that they were working together, face to face, it was like she'd taken over a part of his mind; she was always there. Just now, with Mulciber, he couldn't help but think about what would she do? What would she want him to do? He hated Mulciber and his type, but Hermione wouldn't have understood if he'd just left him there to suffer.

The Summers estate was just over the next hill. Draco took a moment to just enjoy the wind in his face, the feeling of freedom when he flew. As far as Draco'd kept track, Lord Summers was Blaise's fourth step-father, out of about nine. At least a couple of them had died. He'd never asked Blaise why he has living at this particular step-father's house or where his step-father was. Was he still alive? Had he died and left the estate to Blaise? Or was he still living? Maybe he'd gone abroad. Those were just some of the many questions he and Blaise ignored when they got together to enjoy vintage fire whiskey, to pretend they were just normal friends, leading normal lives.

Before visiting Mulciber, Draco had stopped off at his cottage and asked Nappy to announce him to Blaise. That was partly to keep up the usual social niceties, but partly to make sure that Blaise knew he was coming. In the old days, one could drop in on a friend, and just knock on the door, or at least ring the bell at the gatehouse. Now, security was tight everywhere. Draco wasn't sure if Blaise would answer a knock or a ring, and if he did it would probably be with wand drawn at the very least. Nappy, however, would've notified the elderly house elf, Clytie, who would've tracked down Blaise and let him know of the impending visit.

Coming over the hill, Draco was surprised to see someone standing by the iron front gate. He drew his wand and circled carefully before deciding that it was Blaise and it was safe to land. He kept his wand out as he approached though.

"Afternoon, Draco," Blaise drawled as he leaned back on the giant gate. The large iron sunburst in the center had once been gilded, but now only specks of gold remained.

"Good day," Draco answered. "What did I say during my last visit when you broke out the really good firewhiskey?"

"It wasn't your last visit, it was the one before that, and you said 'finally, hanging out with your sorry arse is paying off.'"

Draco reached out to shake Blaise's hand. If the content of his statement hadn't been good enough, the breezy way he said it was classic Blaise. "Sorry, for the interrogation. I'm getting paranoid lately."

"No problem," he said as he walked through the gate, touching Draco's elbow lightly as he also passed through. "Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss or were you just thirsty for more firewhiskey?"

"Two things actually," Draco looked back over his shoulder. "Let's wait until we're inside." Blaise was wearing a cloak, that was unusual for him. "Did you just fly in from somewhere?"

"Despite what you might think, I don't spend all of my time hanging out waiting for my favorite Death Eater to drop by." Blaise's smile took the sting out of what he said, but it was the first time he'd acknowledged what Draco was out loud.

Draco decided to press him on it. He needed to discuss some serious things with Blaise today. "Some would say you're insane to meet with a Death Eater at all."

"True enough. From what I hear you're not just any old foot soldier either."

Draco sighed and followed Blaise up the front steps and through the massive front doors. "No, I'm not. That brings me to one of the things I need to tell you. I'm here to deliver a warning."

"Is this where the friendship ends and the threats begin?" Blaise stopped walking and turned to face Draco, one hand inside his cloak, no doubt on his wand.

"No. This is a real warning. I'm afraid I don't have much to give you either, but the Dark Lord mentioned your name last night." Blaise gave him an incredulous look, and waited for him to go on. "He thinks he now may be able to persuade you to join him, he's come across some sort of information, but he didn't say what. I really just want you to know, to be careful, to be on your guard."

Blaise swore under his breath, then turned and stomped down the hall. Once he'd reached their usual sitting room he conjured two glasses and poured fire whiskey into each. Without a word he held one out to Draco.

"I suppose I'd be wasting my breath to try to convince you to leave England."

Blaise took a slow drink from his glass, then looked at Draco and said "Yes, if I could go I would've already."

"But you can't?"

Blaise turned and sat in the large leather chair where he'd spent most of his time when they were together. "Have you ever been in love?"

Draco eyes widened. After his earlier confrontation he hadn't expected Blaise to confide in him. He sighed and sat in his usual chair, then remembered to answer the question. "No, never."

"That answer was slower to come than I expected." Blaise leaned forward and stared into his eyes.

"Maybe. I've never been in love, but lately . . . I can at least imagine what it might be like."

"Baby steps, Drake." Blaise smirked. He knew Draco hated it when he called him that.

"I can't think of anything more dangerous than being in love in this world. The Dark Lord . . . he uses things like that . . . uses them in the worst possible ways."

"I know. If I could take her away from all of this I would, but I can't." Draco almost begged him not to say any more, but Blaise was silent anyway. "You said there were two things."

"Yeah. I wanted to ask you a favor. Does this house still have the conservatory on top? The one with the potions laboratory set up in the corner?" Blaise nodded. "I have a friend . . . would you be willing to let someone use the lab?"

Blaise frowned. "Maybe, but . . . when would they need it?"

Draco had already checked the calendar. "Two nights from now."

"The full moon?"

Draco nodded.

"No. That's not possible." Blaise stood up, clearly dismissing Draco.

"Wait . . . no . . . is there anything I can do?"

"I need it that night. Any other night . . . ." Blaise was walking toward the door.

Draco paused, thinking of what that meant. He needed to handle this carefully.

"The person I'd be bringing here . . . is not only very good with potions, but has gotten Severus's notes. What if this person was willing to brew your potion for you as well?"

Blaise stopped. "Severus's notes?"

Draco nodded. Surely there was only one potion that was best brewed under the light of the full moon, but he understood why Blaise didn't want to say too much. They trusted each other, at least to some degree, but no one's thoughts were safe anymore. "Have you ever heard rumors that Severus had a particular expertise in . . . full moon potions?"

"What makes you think that your friend . . . notes or no notes . . . could brew the potion better than I can?"

Draco knew that if he told Blaise that Hermione was the one who wanted to use his laboratory, well, first of all, Blaise wouldn't believe him, however, once he believed him, he'd want her to brew the potion. Her skill as a witch was well known. Her name couldn't come into the discussion yet though. Her identity was her secret to keep, not his.

"If you'll give me a 'maybe' I'll see if I can let you know who it is. I'll try to be back tomorrow."

"Send Nappy again."

Draco shook Blaise's hand. This time he looked deep into his eyes. They were hiding things from each other, but it seemed they might both gain by working together.

Before Draco got back on his broom he paused outside the doors to send a message to Hermione, through the coin, letting her know he'd be back at the cottage soon and he had something he wanted to show her. It was time to take a look at Mulciber's memories.

Once he was in the air he couldn't help but wonder who Blaise was protecting. Could she have been infected by a werewolf? Maybe even be one herself? That might explain why she wouldn't leave England. At least with a pack she'd have some protection, some help during the full moon. Greyback had infected quite a few young witches and wizards. In fact, he was said to have formed quite a pack himself.

What if she were part of his pack, loyal to him? Was that possible? It would explain how word had gotten back to the Dark Lord that Blaise was vulnerable.

Then a thought hit Draco; it hit him so abruptly that he jerked his broom handle and had to take a moment to steady his flying. Being in love was dangerous in this world. However, if Blaise was in love, and his mere presence in England said that he was, then he'd do anything, anything at all to keep her safe. Being in love not only put Blaise in danger, but it made him a danger too. If he had to sell Draco out to save his girl, he would. If he had any information that the Dark Lord wanted, he'd give it to him if he had too.

There was no way Draco could let Blaise know it was Hermione who would be brewing the potion.

**AN – Sorry this is late. Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews, and thanks, as always, to my lovely beta Hesaluti.**


	18. Chapter 18 - Pensive

**Disclaimer – JKR has created the characters and, in particularly, the nifty magical devices of the Harry Potter world. They are such fun to play with, but I don't own them.**

18 – Pensive

Hermione stepped out of the front parlor and paused in the front hall, careful to make no noise as she did. Walburga Black's heavy, steady breathing meant that she was asleep. Hermione didn't want to disturb her, but she needed a moment to think.

She'd run into Professor McGonagall as soon as she got back to Grimmauld Place. They'd only been able to speak for a few minutes when Kingsley Shaklebolt stepped out of a meeting with someone in the upstairs parlor. She excused herself from the professor, then she and Shaklebolt stepped into the front parlor for a private conversation.

The meeting with Shaklebolt had gone well. He was, of course, shocked by what she had to say about Hestia Jones, but asked her not to discuss this development with anyone else, for the time being. He would tell a couple of his most trusted Aurors and make sure that they tailed her at all times, but he liked her idea of planting some misinformation at the Ministry and didn't want to risk having an exposed spy call the operation into question. He gave her permission to tell Harry and Ron about the raid, and they arranged to meet to make more specific plans that afternoon.

Now it was time for the conversation she was really dreading. She needed to talk to Harry. First, she'd grab a cup of tea and pull her thoughts together.

As she stepped into the kitchen, she was surprised to see Harry already sitting at the table, sipping from a mug and looking barely conscious.

"Harry, I need to tell you I'm . . . ."

"Hermione, I was looking for you to . . . ."

They both spoke at the same time, then both stopped. After a moment of silence Hermione said "Okay, you go first."

"Hermione, I've been looking for you. I need to tell you I'm sorry. Ginny's dying to see you and she's furious with me for blaming you because she went on a raid."

Hermione felt as though a great weight she hadn't even realized she'd been carrying was suddenly lifted off her shoulders. She sank into the chair next to Harry and let out a quick sigh.

"Oh Harry, I hate it when we fight. I was so scared about Ginny, and I knew you'd hate me forever if something happened to her."

"No, I wouldn't. I mean, I'm glad she's okay, more than glad, but I would've come to my senses even if . . . ."

"Let's just be happy that we don't have to find out how that would've worked out."

Harry nodded and smiled. "I am going to hate Malfoy forever. Sooner or later I'm going to catch up with that bastard and . . . ."

"Harry, I have to talk to you about something, something big." Hermione was pretty sure that once she told him about the raid on the Ministry he'd overlook the fact that she just cut off his ranting. It'd be so good to work with Harry and Ron again.

Later she'd talk to Harry about Malfoy, about letting him see some of Harry's memories, although she needed to make sure that Malfoy didn't mind if she let others in on his spying secret. For now, she'd skip the part about how Shaklebolt knew there was going to be a raid at the Ministry.

"Come on, Harry. Let's get Ron and I'll explain what Shaklebolt just told me."

Hermione could've happily talked to Harry and Ron all afternoon, but today was just too busy of a day for that. She had to excuse herself. "I should be able to tell you both about my special project soon," she said, and hoped that she was telling the truth.

She used the portkey Draco had given her. He was just about to dig into a large platter of sandwiches that Nappy had made and her stomach growled, much to her embarrassment.

"Help yourself," he said with a smirk and they ate in silence, Hermione being extra careful to eat neatly. Draco's impeccable manners made her self-conscious.

Once they were done Hermione resisted the urge to fidget and stared Draco right in the eyes as she said, "McGonagall said we can use the pensieve at Hogwarts. If we go now, she's still at a meeting at headquarters. We'll have to disillusion you, just in case, but we should be able to get in."

"Wait. If she knows I'm going with you why does it matter if she's gone when we get there?"

"She knows 'my contact' is going with me. She doesn't know it's you."

"You haven't told her?"

"Of course not. I haven't told anyone." He stared at her intently. What was his problem? She wasn't supposed to tell anyone.

"Can I get past the wards?"

"We can use the floo. There's a password and you'll have to be touching me when you go through." They could be professional about this, Hermione reassured herself. Of course, he wouldn't think she was making a pass at him. The fact that he'd held her while she had a bit of a breakdown didn't change anything. She was his handler. Suddenly that term took on a different meaning. She turned away from him to look through her bag, and to hide her blush.

She pulled out the pillbox. "Here. You should take a couple of these."

"I already did."

"They only last about 4 hours though. Unless . . . is your arm sore?"

"Yeah, but I thought . . . ." He stopped.

She shook her head. He probably just assumed Muggle pills didn't work very well. Typical wizard. "Let me check for a fever first. Nope. Good, but do take the antibiotic too."

"I have no idea what you're on about," he said, but he took the pills from her hand. He swallowed them quickly. She smirked at him. "Are you okay to travel? Or do you want me to do that numbing spell again?"

He smirked back at her and held out his arm. "Sure. What's the worst that could happen? You knock me out again and I get in another little nap."

"_Torpentem,_" she waved her wand over his arm. She was starting to be more comfortable with this spell. "By the way, Shacklebolt liked our idea. I've got to get back in . . . ," she looked at her watch, "a couple of hours to meet with him again to go over the plans. Are you ready? We should hurry."

"I'm ready if you are." He held out his uninjured arm to her.

She placed her hand on top of his arm, wondering if this formal stance felt awkward to him. "Sorry, I've got to block your ears. You're not allowed to hear the password." He just nodded. She waved her wand, using her left hand since her right was holding his arm. She hoped he didn't see the slight tremor in her hand. This was no big deal. They were co-workers flooing together. She was only holding onto his hand, for a couple minutes, because they had to get past the wards. Another wave of her wand and he was disillusioned. Her hand seemed to be floating in midair. She tightened her grip on him, making sure he was still there, then loosened it again immediately. She hadn't meant to do that. Why was she so aware of warmth of his arm, the muscle she could feel beneath her fingers?

She threw the floo powder in and they stepped into the fireplace together. She wasn't used to floo travelling with someone else. There really wasn't much room. It was even stranger because she couldn't see him. Was he looking at her? "Hogwarts" she called out. There was no reason to try to analyze what part of him was pressed against her. It was just his side. She was too short to reach his shoulder, just his upper arm, and maybe a bit of his thigh against her own. She flexed her leg muscle, pulling it away from him.

They stepped out and she called out the password "Helga." Were her passwords always founders' names? Hermione waved her wand and gave him back his hearing. Then she realized that she was still holding onto his arm and dropped it quickly. She was used to being around Harry and Ron. Surely travelling like this with one of them, wouldn't have gotten her so flustered?

Before getting rid of the disillusionment spell on Draco, Hermione covered all the portraits, then did a silencing spell to keep them from listening in. "Sorry. I just . . . it's hard to know who we can trust." Just a few minutes later she'd gotten the pensieve out of the large black cabinet in McGonagall's office.

He didn't respond. He was already pointing his wand at his own head and drawing out a silvery thread of memory. He touched the tip of his wand to the surface of the pensieve and the silver of Malfoy's memory began to spin and tumble within the cloud-like substance within the basin. She'd have to ask him what spell he used for that – later.

"You ready, Granger?" She nodded and stepped toward the shallow stone pensieve. Just then she noticed the runes encircling the upper edge.

"Wait." She circled around it, translating in as she went. "Memory . . . is the mother . . . of all wisdom."

"What's that?"

"It's on here. It's a quote by Aeschylus. He was a writer in ancient Greece. He wrote . . . ."

"I know who Aeschylus was. You're not the only one who reads. Nice quote. Can we go now?"

Hermione nodded, not sure whether she should be more impressed or annoyed with him. Maybe neither since they had things they needed to get done. She caught his eye and they both reached forward with their wands to touch the moving silver-white surface of the memories in the pensieve. Harry had told Hermione that when she touched it she'd find herself pulled into whatever scene was waiting inside, but the sensation still caught her by surprise. As soon as they touched the surface, the substance began to swirl rapidly. Then she was looking down into a cave. She leaned forward and suddenly fell into the scene. Her arms flew out and all around her she passed through something ice cold and very dark. Then she found herself standing in the cave, surrounded by masked Death Eaters, Voldemort himself standing before her. She hadn't even had time to look around when the scene changed.

The cave seemed to dissolve into a mess of swirling colors and wind. Then there was a jolt. She saw Mulciber, just in front of her, he stumbled a bit, then regained his balance. Looking up, she saw lots of whiteness and long empty halls. She teetered back off balance, but Draco was behind her. His hands caught her, steadied her, one on her shoulder, one on her waist. As soon as she regained her composure, he let go, but leaned forward and said softly "Portkey," and then she understood. Now they were in St. Mungo's and the attack was beginning.

The empty hall filled quickly as various Death Eaters appeared. Hermione couldn't recognize many of them. They were covered by their cloaks, faces hidden behind leering metal masks. She did think she recognized the form of her former classmate, Goyle who appeared with two men, probably his father and Crabbe's father. Soon there were a couple dozen Death Eaters up and down the hall. Hermione felt her heart pounding. _'We're just watching. We're not really here,' _she reminded herself.

A loud screeching keen began. Apparently, St. Mungo's had some sort of alarm system and they'd set it off. "Everyone stay on this floor. Petrify the first fourteen fools who respond," shouted Mulciber, even as he cast the first spell, dropping a nurse who hurried out of one of the rooms. Others took each end of the hall, while he strode over to the frozen woman.

There was a pop and the unmistakable figure of Bellatrix LeStrange appeared, her wild hair barely contained by her hood. "The fun begins!" she giggled.

"No, Bellatrix. Don't mess with them yet. Bring them to me," snapped Mulciber. Bellatrix said nothing, but turned and stalked off down a hall.

Mulciber pointed his wand at the petrified witch. _"Imperio."_ In a few minutes his plan was obvious. He imperio'd hospital staff, sending two off to each floor to stupefy anyone they saw and blast the exits. Once they'd been sent off, a strange quiet settled over the floor, although various distressed calls could be heard from the patient rooms. Then there was a loud pained shriek from one of the patient rooms. Hermione and Draco followed as Mulciber hurried to find the source of the noise. They entered a room to find Bellatrix, mask now dangling around her neck, with her wand pointing at an elderly wizard. He'd apparently fallen out of his bed and was thrashing on the floor. Hermione realized she was crucio'ing him and started to avert her eyes, then she caught herself. She wasn't going to act like a squeamish little girl in front of Malfoy, although she couldn't stop the shudder that ran through her as she remembered the agony of that curse.

"I told you – wait! The Dark Lord will decide what to do with them. It's not time for games."

With an exaggerated eye roll, Bellatrix lowered her wand and pushed roughly past Mulciber into the hall, pulling her mask back up as she went. Hermione moved quickly to get out of her way, not wanting to touch even the memory of her. "Easy Granger," Malfoy whispered in her ear. She jerked around, ready to bite his head off for laughing at her, but there was no smile on his face and he too was eyeing his aunt warily.

Hermione followed Mulciber back into the hall, just in time to see him conferring with a short Death Eater, then they each faced a different side of the hall and sent some spell that slammed all of the doors to the patient rooms. Mulciber sent another couple Death Eaters off, giving orders that they should close the doors in the adjoining halls.

"They're here!" shouted a voice down the hall. Hermione turned to see Charlie Weasley apparate into the hall. He stupefied the nearest Death Eater, then was hit by at least two petrifying spells. The next few minutes were overwhelming as Order member after Order member appeared. Some were able to get off some spells, including Shaklebolt who slashed some Death Eater with a spell that left him bleeding profusely on the floor, but they were all eventually petrified.

'_They're all okay. They're all okay,_' Hermione kept reminding herself. She saw Ron and Harry, in his polyjuiced, light brown hair, rush in through a stairwell. Her body moved involuntarily toward them, wanting to warn them of the trap. Seconds later they were both frozen in place. She turned her head and flinched as she saw Fleur petrified just next to her.

Then Mulciber pulled aside an older wizard and said something to him. The wizard disapparated immediately.

"He's just sent Goyle to let the Dark Lord know they're ready." Again, Malfoy was whispering. He didn't have to, they couldn't hear him, but Hermione was glad he did. Anything else would've felt strange, well, even more strange.

Again, a quiet waiting fell over the floor. This time there was no sound coming from the patient rooms. Hermione hoped that was just because the doors had been magically closed. Most of the Death Eaters kept their wands on the various frozen order members, but Bellatrix strode back down the hall, pushing over Neville as she passed him, causing him to crash loudly to the floor. Hermione's wand hand flexed, wishing she could hex the vicious witch. Watching all of this helplessly was horrible.

Then Voldemort appeared, almost on top of where Hermione was standing. To her surprise Malfoy stepped in front of her and pulled her back away from him. His arm fell back quickly, and he didn't meet her eyes. Was he embarrassed that he'd just done something gallant? Perhaps, especially since they'd both remembered by now that it wasn't necessary.

"Look who we have here." Voldemort's voice slithered as he exulted over his victims.

With a theatrical wave of his arm down one side of the hall he shouted out - _"R__edimio in dolus."_ He'd apparently done a silent _"sonorous"_ charm as his voice now echoed loudly. An arc of purple light moved down the hall, causing the walls, doors, floor and ceiling to glow purple momentarily as it moved over them. He turned and repeated the spell in the other direction.

"We are sealed," he announced. Hermione halfway expected the gathered Death Eaters to burst into applause for his performance, but no one spoke.

Bellatrix however, hurried over. "Magnificent!" she simpered. "Can we play now?" She reached over to Hestia Jones, who was frozen in a strange mid-turning position and ran her hand down the witch's arm.

"There's Hestia," Hermione whispered to Malfoy, who nodded but said nothing.

"Bellatrix, my dear, there are few things more important than terror. This is not play. It is deadly serious – but you may begin."

Bellatrix turned from Hestia to Oliver Wood, who was frozen nearby. She ran her wand down the side of his face, then jabbed him sharply in the gut with it as she snarled _"finite incantatem."_ His body immediately lost its rigidity. He scowled furiously at her. She wasted no time as she hit him with a "_crucio."_

As his screams filled the hall, laughter came from under the Death Eater cloaks. "Monsters," Hermione hissed. She couldn't help but glance at Malfoy to see his reaction, but his face was impassive, his eyes sweeping down the hall.

"You can all give our friends a taste of what they have coming. Ready?" Hermione took a half a step back as she realized what was about to happen. No one had mentioned this part to her.

Again his voice boomed down the hall _"Finite Incantatem."_ Mulciber cast a _"crucio"_ on Fleur, as dozens of different voices called out _"crucio!"_ Hermione heard the voices of her friends screaming all around her, Ron and Harry among those who were thrashing on the floor. She stared resolutely at the floor, trying to calm her breathing, ignore the pain all around her.

Malfoy pulled at her elbow, directing her attention back to Voldemort. He walked quickly down the hall, obviously looking for someone. Hermione bit her lip. He was looking for Harry. He pointed his wand at a couple of empty walls and muttered some spell she couldn't hear, but it was probably a _hominem revelio_. Of course, nothing, no one, was revealed.

He reached the far end of the hall, then turned and called out 'Enough!" He followed it immediately with a sweeping _"petrificalus totalus."_ Somehow he managed to petrify only the Order members. Had he added a silent incantation? "It is time to find Potter. Let's start with some of the younger ones."

Had he recognized Ron? Was he going to start with him? No, he came half-way back down the hall and stopped in front Geoff Stebbins, a Hufflepuff she didn't know very well, who was still lying on the floor. He unpetrified him, and for a second Stebbins seemed to pale, then he braced himself.

"Where is Potter?" Voldemort's voice was almost a whisper. Stebbins didn't respond in any way. _"Crucio."_ Stebbins didn't cry out, although his jaw was clenched and his fingers scratched into the floor. This time the spell went on for what seemed like an eternity, until at last, Stebbins took a gasping breath, then let out a hideous cry.

Suddenly, Hermione saw, out of the corner of her eye, a movement. Neville's arm had moved, at first only a small jerk, then a white flash burst from his wand and slashed just in front of Voldemort, close enough to tear the sleeve of his robe. Stebbins' body went limp on the floor, either exhausted or unconscious, as Voldemort turned toward Neville.

"Who released him?" he shouted as he shot a red stupefy at the boy. Neville rolled quickly to one side though and it missed him. Hermione had raised her own wand, wishing she could slam Voldemort with a hex. She ducked reflexively as a red flash shot from down the hall toward him, only to be stopped by Bellatrix's quick shield spell.

Then bedlam broke loose – spells flying everywhere, flashes of white, red. All the Order members had somehow been released! A green light caught Hermione's eye and she saw a Death Eater fall back against a wall.

The short Death Eater called to Mulciber "What's happening?" but he only grunted in reply. Seconds later the short one was down. Hermione tried to watch, to see what was happening. She saw Voldemort firing spell after spell, at first, red flashed, then green. He was now shooting to kill. She tasted blood as she bit her lip. Then he vanished.

Within seconds the Death Eaters were disappearing, one after another. Hermione's gaze swept down the hall and she noticed, strangely, that Hestia Jones was still frozen in place. She was sitting up against a wall, her face still looking strained from the _crucio_ she'd suffered just before she was frozen again. Two Death Eaters approached her, wands pointing in her face even though she was helpless. One, a tall broad wizard, yanked on her hair, then turned to the other. They must have been taking some of her hair!

Hermione hurried over, trying to see who the two wizards were, but they disappeared before she could get close enough. Bellatrix stepped between Hermione and Hestia, looked frantically around, then grabbed the petrified witch and vanished.

A white flash flew at Mulciber – Hermione thought it'd come from where Ron and Harry were now battling – and she heard his cry as it slashed down his front, blood spraying out. He looked around manically – he was nearly alone now – then turned to apparate and all went dark. Instead of returning to the cave, she felt Malfoy grab her arm and the two of them were again in McGonagall's office.

"No need to do the cave again," Malfoy said quietly. "That's all I took."

Hermione fell back into one of the chairs by McGonagall's desk, her heart pounding, her mind racing. What had happened? How did that make sense? It was so much like the Battle at Hogwarts, although this time the Death Eaters had been in total control. The Order members were all helpless, then somehow the petrifying spells were broken.

"Thirsty?" Draco held a crystal glass out to her and she gulped down the ice cold water. She was so thirsty and she hadn't even really been there.

Her eyes fell on a piece of parchment on McGonagall's desk. She summoned it and a quill and began making notes, trying to make some sense out of her muddled thoughts.

"_Everyone petrified; Stebbins released and tortured; Neville shot a stunner at Baldy, everyone released_."

She bit the end of her quill. She crossed out the last bit and rewrote: _everyone, except Hestia, released._ It was possible that there'd been someone else who wasn't released. It was hard to see everyone in the crowded, narrow hall, but Hestia was the only one she'd seen.

"I'm assuming from your expression that didn't make sense to you either."

"No, but there's got to be a reason. There's got to be a pattern."

"One thing that does make sense now . . . ."

Hermione looked over at Draco, who was leaning forward in his chair, arms on his legs. She didn't say anything, but raised her eyebrows and gave him a little nod, encouraging him to go on.

"Now I know why the Death Eaters were watching Snake Eyes, questioning his magic. He went to St. Mungo's because his sealing spells were supposed to be so strong. He'd have them all trapped and could finish the whole Order off . . . ."

Hermione shuddered. Even knowing everything was going to work out alright she'd been so scared. He'd had them all frozen and helpless.

"Instead, they broke through his spells. It all fell apart."

"Not only that," Hermione said as she made another note. "Did you notice, after they got free, when it was just a free for all, spells shooting everywhere," she looked up from her parchment, "he was trying to kill, using Avada Kedavras . . . ."

". . . .which showed that he knew it was falling apart. He was giving up his original plan not to kill anyone until he found Potter."

"Yes, but also . . . they didn't work."

"What do you mean? I saw someone fall."

"I know, but we didn't lose anyone, except for Hestia and she was later. No one was killed at St. Mungo's. What about the Death Eaters? Some of them went down. Were any of them killed?"

"I don't know. It's hard to tell because most of them wear masks at the meetings. He must count how many return, but he never mentions it. No one asks because it's too dangerous to get him to admit that anything ever goes wrong."

What a difference in the way their casualties were treated.

"I saw at least one other Death Eater kill someone, or try to," Draco was almost talking to himself. "If no one was lost, that would mean the Avada's not working for more than just . . . him."

Was he making an effort not to call Voldemort 'the Dark Lord' anymore? Why? There were other things she needed to focus on.

"Let's go through from the beginning and make notes of anything that seemed strange or seemed important."

"Okay, but if you don't want me to be seen here, let's go back to the cottage."

Hermione glanced at her wrist watch, then nodded. She had almost an hour left before she had to meet Kingsley.

When they reached the cottage, tea was already waiting for them, charmed to stay warm. They both paced around while the charmed quill made notes of all of their observations.

"What did you call this again?" Draco asked as he paused to drink from his tea.

"Brainstorming."

"That makes no sense. What possible connection is there between a storm and writing ideas down?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, and glanced at her watch. "I have to leave in ten minutes. Let's debate Muggle nomenclature some other time."

"Fine. By the way, you did tell Shaklebolt about his little Hestia problem, didn't you?"

"Yes, he's having her tailed, but he's going to hold off on arresting whoever it is. One question? At the end of the raid did Snake Eyes do his thing where he pulls all the Death Eaters back?"

Draco frowned. "I don't think so. They seemed to apparate out at different times, plus as far as I know that calls all Death Eaters back, but Dolohov and I were still at the orphanage. We didn't get called back until later."

"But you were pulled back, at the end of the orphanage raid?"

"Yes."

"So why wouldn't whoever is polyjuicing as Hestia have been called back then?"

"No idea, but you're right Hestia – the real Hestia – seemed to be the only one who wasn't released from her petrification. That's got to be significant."

Hermione took a deep breath and sat down on the sofa. He probably wasn't going to like this idea, but she had to throw it out there. "Draco . . . I think we need to . . . talk this over with Harry. He has some memories that you need to see anyway and . . . . Dumbledore told him things. Maybe something he knows can help us piece this together."

She looked down at the expensive rug, bracing herself for . . . something. Yelling wasn't really his style, but at least some cutting remark. After a few seconds, she looked up. He was looking off in the direction of a painting, but nodding his head. "That's what I was thinking, too."

"You were?"

"Yes. This felt too much like the Battle of Hogwarts and clearly, whatever happened there, Potter was the crucial piece."

It felt as though all of the air had been pushed out of her lungs. He hated Harry. How could he be so calm about all of this? How could he have just said that?

"No, I'm not polyjuiced," he said to her with a smirk.

Her heart was pounding. What if he was an imposter? She drew her wand and stood, pointing it at him, wishing her hand wouldn't tremble.

"What did you say to me at the Battle of Hogwarts, just after . . . just after he said that Harry was dead?"

"You're not serious?"

"Answer the question."

He sank down onto a chair and held his head in his hands. It wasn't him. He couldn't answer the question. Then he spoke, his voice low.

"I said . . . I said that he was lying. You were crying, just one tear running down your cheek. Then I said that it didn't matter. We had to keep fighting him; we couldn't let him win." He let out a shuddering breath, as though the memory itself was hurting him.

She sat back down on the sofa. "You lied. You didn't mean it."

He looked up at her. He seemed to have this way of looking deep into her eyes. She knew she'd feel it if he did legilimency, but he seemed to look right into her soul. "I did mean it. I still mean it. I didn't know he could pull us back with him. I never thought the mark made me his prisoner, his slave. I did go back to being a Death Eater, a vicious one, but it was only because I didn't know what else to do. I had to do it for . . . ." His voice became so soft that she could barely hear him "I had to do it for my parents."

The grief in his voice was so raw. He'd done hideous things to keep his parents safe, keep his parents alive and his mother had died anyway. What about his father? Somehow she didn't think she could ask him. What if the answer was . . . .

"My father's still alive." Her eyes widened. He'd known just what she was thinking. "But he's completely insane. He acts like a child. Actually, he's a pretty good kid." He gave her a faint smile. "You need to get going. Send me a message through the runes about the raid on the ministry tonight, and let me know when we can meet with Potter."

Her head was still reeling, but if he was going to act like that was a normal conversation, so would she. "You're sure the attack won't come before nightfall."

"I'll make sure it doesn't. He'll like the idea of stealing their plans without any one seeing, without anyone knowing."

She stood up and pulled the key out of her pocket. "How does this work then?"

"The portkey's set up to go back and forth between two places, over and over. When you're here it'll take you back to Grimmauld Place. When you're there, it'll bring you here." She frowned. What if she needed to get here from somewhere else? They'd have to deal with that later.

"Okay. Watch for my message." He just nodded, then stood as if remembering that it was poor manners to sit while a lady was leaving. "Draco, . . . tonight . . . be careful."

"Always."

**AN – Sorry for the delay. Summer, children, visitors, real life in general cutting in on writing time. Thanks so much for reading my story and for the many wonderful reviews.**


	19. Chapter 19 - Recipe for Tears

19 – Recipe for Tears

Draco twisted off the lid of the jar of wolfsbane. It was a bit less than half full, but the sharp scent meant that it was fresh enough. He shook the jar and frowned, probably two to three ounces. He'd have to check Severus's book to see how much she needed.

The glowing blue bottle of Amorita caught his eye. He reached for it, then pulled his hand back. The Dark Lord might check him for healing potions again. As much as he'd love to feel its gentle soothing, he'd better not. He could at least check to see how much was left. As soon as he pulled out the stopper an exotic floral scent wafted out. It smelled like his mother, and it made him feel lighter, more hopeful. There was so little left. Could he brew it? If he used her tears, would it still work?

He went back into the living room and opened Severus's potions manual as he sat down. First, he checked the wolfsbane potion – wow – one batch called for three ounces of wolfsbane. No wonder they were running out. He might have enough, but . . . .

Then he skimmed through the directions for Amorita. A blurred note in the margin caught his eye. _"Used her tears – it worked!"_ Whose tears? Severus had never seemed all that fond of his own mother. Did that mean . . . was there someone else? Someone Severus loved? Why not? Could that be why he turned spy? What did it get him? He apparently didn't get the girl, and now he was dead. More proof that love, at least in this world, was a fool's game.

Still . . . if Severus was alive could he, would Draco be able to ask about her? Who was she? What happened? Maybe if he took some of his father's best goblin-made wine . . . it wasn't worth thinking about. Severus was gone. It didn't matter.

Amorita was, apparently, most potent if both 'tears of loving joy' and 'tears of a heart torn' were used. 'A heart torn?' Had he ever torn his mother's heart? He sighed. One way or another he needed to visit the Manor.

The jar of wolfsbane in the Manor's stores held more than 5 ounces. With what he had at the Cottage that'd be more than enough for two batches of the potion. He took three and a half ounces, sealed it in a smaller bottle, used a cushioning charm and slipped it into the bag with the other ingredients. He'd already gotten some valerian, dried pomegranate arils and fluxweed. Now all he needed from the kitchen was the powdered jobberknoll feathers. A few more ingredients that were kept upstairs and, combined with his stores back at the Cottage, he'd have everything needed for the Wolfsbane Potion, Amorita and Veritaserum. The Dark Lord's stores of the latter were running low and Draco preferred to use his own recipe for the truth potion. He wasn't completely sure that he'd be able to brew Amorita, but he'd decided to try.

He needed to be very careful with the jobberknoll feathers. They were expensive, but more importantly, they were one of the first ingredients that the Ministry had started registering. This particular jar was from Borgin and Burkes, before it closed, and therefore was unregistered. If he could obtain more at all, it would have to be registered and that would cause all sorts of problems. Better not to spill any. Five drams would be enough for both Amorita and Veritaserum. His right hand was almost healed, but his left would still be steadier. Just in case, he used the _ambidextrius_ charm again. He started to tap out some of the finely ground electric blue powder, then paused. His hand still had a slight tremble. Annoyed, he used a quick steadying charm, then went back to the careful tapping. The shaking of his hand was just one of the symptoms of the emotions he'd forced away, pushing the thoughts behind his barrier, this time to protect himself from them, although he wouldn't want the Dark Lord seeing them either.

It was all her fault. He needed to get her out of his head. She was making him lose his self-control and self-control was what kept him alive.

He had embraced her, comforted her, without thinking first. Years of dealing with Pansy had taught him how to handle female tears, but it was as though he'd reacted instinctively. He needed to keep things professional, not notice how perfectly she fit in his arms.

He wondered if she'd caught what he'd done earlier, his colossal blunder. Even if she did, she wouldn't understand the significance. When the Dark Lord had appeared, he'd forgotten that they were in a memory and he'd moved in front of her reflexively, moved to protect her.

He would've gotten both of them killed if that had been real Dark Lord. Draco had seen him use protective instincts like that many times. It was much more powerful, much more effective than using only an individual's fear, an individual's pain. One person could often withstand torture, at least for a while. However, if they were forced to watch someone they cared about suffering, screaming in pain, they broke almost instantly. Then the Dark Lord would just toy with them.

If Draco were to show such weakness, for a Muggle-born girl no less, . . . The Dark Lord would show her no mercy.

Luckily, he was finished with the jobberknoll powder, or the shudder that ran through his entire body might have caused him to spill it. This was why he had to stop this, had to stop thinking about her so much, but how?

At least he was done here. He could leave quickly before . . . .

"Good afternoon, Draco." Too late. His father was already here, leaning up against the doorframe, a crystal wine glass in one hand.

"Father. I didn't know that you knew where the kitchens were." Two years ago he would've thought that, but never said it. Last year, the Dark Lord would never have permitted the two of them to be alone together in the kitchen, but now . . . at least with his father he could say whatever he wanted. There were advantages to having the man be completely addled.

"Don't be ridiculous. I know every inch of the Manor. Care to join me for a glass of Madiera?"

"Muggle wine?"

"Of course not. This is goblin-made, Portugese goblins. Quite excellent. I was just stopping in to see if we have any Manchego left?"

"Isn't it a bit early for wine and cheese?"

"Perhaps. Is there something we can be celebrating? A betrothal to Miss Parkinson?"

Draco's stomach clenched. This was so much like talking to his father, but so different at the same time. The same topic – his father never let up about getting engaged, but the tone was so much easier, so much lighter. Why couldn't . . . He needed to answer him. "No, Father. I won't be getting engaged to Pansy."

"Hmm, should I speak to Mr. Greengrass then?"

Draco just shook his head. Did his father really not remember that Mr. Greengrass had been murdered?

"You seem different today, Draco. I thought for sure it was the glow of budding romance. Ah, well. I can drink to the blooming of the jonquils instead."

His father had definitely gone insane. He would never have spouted poetic rubbish like that before.

"I'm sorry. I must be going." Draco hurried out, before he heard any more of his father's ravings. He went upstairs, but instead of going left towards his own rooms he went right towards his mother's. The physical pain in his chest surprised him, although it shouldn't have. He hadn't been in this hallway since her death. Seeing her rooms empty, feeling the hollowness that said no one had been in here for a while, made her absence more real. Every time he thought he was beginning to turn the corner, that his grief for her was beginning to ebb, something like this would bring it slamming back.

He hesitated with his hand on the doorknob to her room. Maybe it would be better to come back . . . no, tomorrow wouldn't be any better. It wasn't going to get any better, so it was best to just do it.

He refused to pause in her room, refused to look around. Why torment himself? He hurried into her en suite bathroom, where she kept her private potions, her memories, her most precious things, hoping that the Dark Lord wouldn't intrude here. So far, she'd been right.

He opened the far left cabinet, and took down the small ornate jars of powdered moonstone and powdered unicorn horn. He carefully took one dram of each, putting it into smaller bottles. How many times had he leaned up against the pink marble counter, watching his mother work on various potions? He returned the larger jars to their places, then moved over to the next cabinet, where she kept her memories, her tears, her own blood. Luckily, she was meticulously organized. He pulled open her drawer and found, just as he remembered it, her journal where she kept notes on what was in the small vials above. He paused again. This felt like an invasion. She'd told him to do it though.

He flipped through the pages, found the right one, then ran his finger down the list of dates, pointedly ignoring the fact that his hand was shaking, again. On the page headed 'Tears,' under Draco's name there was a heading of "joyful," followed by dates, then "sorrowful," again followed by dates. At least the joyful list was longer, but the other list mocked him with its many dates. He tried not to see the two lists on the next page, under his father's name, tried not to note that the "sorrowful" list on that page was far longer than . . . .

This was all too private. He averted his eyes.

The glass bottled memories were next. Again, the bottles were dated and a journal page listed the dates, then noted the memories within. He skipped over those with various memories of her family, her early life, his own childhood. There was a large gap in the dates then he reached those she'd made just before . . . just before she died. "Amorita I" was followed by "Amorita II." How strange. Was it a two stage process? Severus's notes hadn't mentioned any long stewing period. He took both bottles.

He closed the journal and put it back in the drawer. Was this drawer charmed to open for him, but not for others? There was no way to know, so he added his own locking charm just to be sure.

Now to risk seeing his father again. The mark on his arm was still, no glowing, no moving. The summons wasn't likely to come until later. As he left his mother's rooms he used another locking charm. Like the one he'd used before, this would admit no one but himself and his father. The Manor wouldn't allow him to lock any room against his father.

His father, on the other hand, could lock him out. When he reached the door to Lucius's office, he hesitated. If it was locked, he'd have to find him, have to explain to him why he wanted to use the pensieve. He tried the handle. It opened easily.

The pensieve was already out, waiting on his father's large mahogany desk. There were no bottled memories anywhere near it. He glanced in and the white swirling material lacked the silver sheen that it had once a memory was waiting. Why was it out? What use had a mad man of memories? Or were they of more use? No matter.

He poured in the contents of "Amorita I" and didn't allow himself to hesitate before touching his wand to the surface and slipping in before he lost his nerve. He was anxious to see his mother again, but dreading it at the same time. It would freshen the pain.

His mother was standing, back in her own bathroom, brewing a potion, a simple white apron over her light blue robes. He folded his arms against his chest to fight the urge to reach out and touch her. He didn't need the added jolt that he'd get when he reached right through her memory.

She'd taken out all of the ingredients and lined them up in the order she'd need them. The mirror made everything easily visible and she read the recipe out loud as she went, obviously already planning to save the memory.

"Tears of joy – these are from the day you first flew an adult size broom." She was looking into the mirror, addressing him. "I was doing fine until you shouted 'Watch Mom, I can loop!' You were so happy. I got all teary." She smiled as though she could see him.

"Tears of sorrow – you could probably guess when I shed these – the day you first left for Hogwarts. I did fine as we dropped you off, stiff upper lip and all that, then we got home. I went into your room and, well, I filled 6 bottles with tears. At least they're useful." Her eyes were sparkling with tears as she spoke. Draco felt a harsh tightness in his throat. Did he even remember how to cry? He certainly hadn't saved any tears. Then again, no one would be making Amorita from his tears.

As far as he could tell the recipe his mother was using was the same as Severus's. Had she gotten it from him? It was agony to be so close, but not be able to ask her questions, not being able to talk to her. He focused on the potion, instead of the graceful way she moved, the gentleness in her voice. His eyes caught on her ornate wedding ring, now lost deep in the North Sea. He should've found a way to . . . . He couldn't let his mind go there.

The potion was almost done – the distinctive pearlescent blue shimmering in her small cauldron. She poured it into the bottle, the same bottle which was now back at the Cottage, nearly empty. "There you are – Amorita. Not a recipe you'll find in many books, but one passed down generation to generation, now passed on to you. Someday you'll pass it on to little Scorpius." Draco rolled his eyes. His mother spoke of the child as though he were more than some fortune teller's delusion. She went on. "You're quite good with potions. Maybe you'll get the chance to experiment – to see what uses it can have. Don't forget the second memory."

She faded away. He stood there, puzzled, staring into nothing but swirling mist, until he remembered to pull himself out of the pensieve. What was that last bit about? What other uses could it have? He wasn't going to let anyone else try it. It was made for him. Would it even work on anyone else? Wasn't it personal? He slipped the bottle marked 'Amorita II' into the bag with the potions ingredients. He was already exhausted. He'd save that one for another day.

Once back at the Cottage Draco went straight to the kitchen and looked through his potions stores. There wasn't time to brew Veritaserum today. He couldn't risk interrupting the process. His Blood Replenishing Potion was almost out, but the medjool dates needed to be stewed overnight. That one would have to wait also.

He might as well go ahead with Amorita. He couldn't take any yet, but he could brew some so it would be ready. It wasn't a difficult potion to brew, once the rather unusual ingredients had been obtained, but it should be enough to keep his mind off of . . . people he shouldn't be thinking about so much.

He lined up the needed ingredients, all there, but he needed to mince the ginger root and valerian. Why hadn't his mother taught him in person? He had so many questions for her. Not really questions about how to brew the potion. More questions about who had taught her, how often did she think he should use it, did anyone make it for her? His father had never really had the patience to brew potions.

Would his mother be proud of him? She'd have enjoyed the way they saved the orphans, although at least she hadn't had to see him suffer afterwards. Would she have known how to do all that Hermione did? Would she have let Nappy go get the muggleborn? Wouldn't she have been impressed by the healing Hermione did, by the spells she used to make his arm look injured again?

He paused to flex the fingers on his right hand. It was almost completely healed. He hadn't been using the muggle painkillers today and it felt fine, maybe a little tender.

His mother, like all wizards he knew, took life debts seriously. Would she agree that the life debt he owed Hermione meant that he should distance himself from her, keep her safe by stopping these feelings he had towards her before they grew too uncontrollable? Maybe . . . later . . . after they'd stopped the Dark Lord, if they even could . . . maybe then he could pursue her . . . if she'd even be interested . . . could he show her that he'd changed? Surely, she'd seen that already, but had he changed enough? Could he be worthy of her?

These were the kind of thoughts he couldn't even allow in his head. They were too dangerous, too seductive, too easy to get lost in.

Brewing Amorita wasn't difficult. The hard part, the part that was giving him a headache, was the battle going on in his mind.

He finished the potion, but needed to steady himself before he could bottle it. He took a long sip of the hot tea Nappy had brought him, then turned to smell the finished potion. It smelled wonderful. It must have worked. He leaned his head down onto his hand. If only he could take some then this head ache would . . .

"Draco? Are you home?"

"In here, Granger." He stood up, rubbing his temples one last time.

She hurried in, cheeks pink with excitement? Exertion? His eyes caught on the white lace strip that trimmed the neckline of her blue Muggle shirt. "We've just finished our planning meeting. I thought it would be quicker to . . . ."

He turned away from her, staring intently down at the counter. "You can't just pop in here any time you want. What if Aunt Bella was here? What if I'd had a house full of Death Eaters?" Why was she always so careless?

"You let them come here? I thought no one else . . . ."

"So far they haven't, but if Aunt Bella wanted to come, if the Dark Lord wanted to use this house, what could I say? You don't understand. I can't say 'no' to them. I'd have to agree. I'd have no way to warn you. You're so damn complacent."

He turned back toward her and wasn't surprised to see her scowling at him, anger snapping in her brown eyes. "Fine. I'll send you the message by runes. I was trying to make it easier for you, so you wouldn't have to translate, but never mind."

She stomped from the room.

"Wait!" he called. Why had he done that? He should just let her leave, let her send the runes. "You're here now. Just tell me."

She kept her back to him. The lace trimmed the bottom of her shirt also. She had on a skirt today. White cotton. Was that normal muggle wear or had she worn it for him?

"It's all set." Her voice was cold, efficient, well, cold and efficient for her, which was still warmer than he was used to, still softer than he deserved. "Do you know what time the raid will be?"

"I'm to report to Aunt Bella's at 8:00. I expect the raid will happen within the hour."

"The Auror office will be ready. There's a map on the wall, but nothing will be marked except for Death Eater attacks that have already happened. There's a big file cabinet in the corner, full of useless paperwork, requests for acquisitions, descriptions of known Death Eaters, nothing top secret. The desk will have files open on it, but they'll just be write-ups of attacks and raids. You can take copies of any of it. Do you know a good copying spell?"

"'Effingo' should work."

"That's what I would use. The plan is for the good stuff to be harder to find, hidden. Have you used 'adapertio'?" She glanced over her shoulder at him when he didn't respond, questioning.

"No."

"It reveals magic. The wand motion is like this. Try it." She was already distracted out of being angry with him.

He copied her motion once, then again, this time as he said "_Adapertio_." The finished potions on the counter glowed blue, the Amorita the brightest of them all. Some of the ingredients also shined – the moonstone powder, the unicorn horn, the jobberknoll feathers.

"Looks like you've been making something interesting."

He just nodded. This wasn't something he could discuss with her.

"So, go ahead and look at the other stuff, then complain that it's worthless and do the 'adapertio.' A smaller file cabinet will appear, tucked back in a corner."

"Do we just open it or what?"

"No, if it's too easy it'll be suspicious."

No wonder she was mad when he said she was complacent. She had the whole thing plotted down to the last detail. Before he knew it, they were sitting at the kitchen table as she explained the whole plan to him. He tried to keep his answers short, bit back the temptation to tell her the plan was brilliant, kept his eyes focused on her face. That wasn't working. He found himself noticing the gold specks in her eyes. It was rude, but he turned his stare to the table.

She looked down. "Oh, how's your arm?" Without asking she did 'finite incantatem' then gushed "It looks so much better." She reached up and put her hand across his forehead. He flinched away from the warmth of her touch, but she ignored that. "No fever. Good. Should we leave it like this or give you one more day of bruises?"

His mind was frozen. Why did she have this effect on him?

"He likes it when you suffer, doesn't he? Let's give him one more day." She bit her lip and focused on his arm, making it slightly swollen, then using the pigment spell to give it color, this time an ugly mix of faded purples and yellow, but the spell itself felt like a caress. He braced himself against the sensation, afraid he would let out a sigh of pleasure. What if he were to let her paint his entire body, any color she'd want, just to feel . . . . Why couldn't he control his mind around her?

He stood up. "I need to get going." What did that mean? It wasn't time yet. Where did he need to go?

"How's your pain? I don't think you need any more of the antibiotics. I checked Professor Snape's notes."

"My arm's fine."

"How about the rest of you?"

His head jerked up at her. What did she mean by that?

A lovely blush pinked her cheeks again. "I mean . . . when I came in . . . you seemed . . . stressed. Do you have a headache?"

"I always have a headache when you're around," he snapped at her, but she hardly reacted at all.

"I'm sure. Here, take a couple of these. They'll help."

He took the pills from her without thinking. It wasn't until after he'd swallowed them that he realized he should've just pushed them back at her.

She bit her lip. She wasn't wearing any lipstick. Purebloods, like his mother and Pansy, always wore lipstick. Her lips were just a natural rosy red. He wouldn't think about kissing them, wouldn't wonder what they tasted like . . . .

"That's it then." She looked up at him, puzzled. Why was she standing so close to him? "Look, I'm sorry I just barged in. Next time, I'll check, with the coin, first."

He didn't answer, not wanting to say something he didn't mean to say. He couldn't trust himself. She looked at him intently. Was she going to kiss him? Did she kiss Potter and Weasley good-bye all the time? Did he even want that kind of kiss?

"I need to get ready." He moved away from her, went out into the living room, just wanting to keep his back to her so she couldn't see how fast his breath was coming. Maybe he did need some time to get his mind, and his body, back under control.

She didn't ask any questions. "Okay. Be careful, Draco." He nodded. She turned and reached into her pocket for the portkey. "Let me know when you get back, with the coin - especially, if you're hurt. No more wandless, exploding mirror stuff." With that – she was gone.

What he needed was a shower. His headache was fading. Was it because of that Muggle medicine she'd given him? One way or another he had an hour before it was time to go and he needed to pull himself together.

Fifty minutes later he was clean, dressed and had been going over the plan, thinking of every possibility, although with Aunt Bella's chaos factor that probably wasn't possible. He took a deep breath, then gathered his memories, and pushed the ones that needed to stay hidden back, behind the barrier. He left the gathering of potion ingredients, at least the ones in Veritaserum. He left the memory of speaking with his father. The Dark Lord would enjoy his pain.

It was time to go.

He needed to speak quickly, convince the Dark Lord. "My Lord, may I speak freely?"

The Dark Lord quirked his head, gazing directly into Draco's eyes, but instead of intruding into his mind, he simply said "Of course."

Draco cleared his throat. He had to be convincing. "We have an opportunity here, a chance to know more than they think we know. If they know that we've gained access to their Auror office, they'll not only change the password, but they may also change their plans. If we can go in and leave no signs that we've been there, we can catch them off guard."

Aunt Bella scowled, but the Dark Lord pressed his fingers together. "My thoughts exactly. That's why this will be a small operation. Bellatrix, you take the polyjuice. Draco, stay disillusioned. Only the two of you will go into the Auror office." The Dark Lord glanced behind Draco and said "Ah, our late arrival is here."

Draco turned to see Dolohov striding up. Why did he have to be involved?

"Antonin, are you ready?"

"Yes, my Lord. Greyback is waiting outside. He is eager to help in whatever way he can."

"Excellent. His . . . special talents will be very useful."

"My Lord?" Draco's mind was racing. There was no way to control Greyback, no way for this to be a neat and quiet, undetected mission. "I thought you said . . . ."

"Mr. Dolohov and his associate will be accompanying you, although their mission is in a different part of the Ministry. They will provide a distraction, keep attention off of the Auror office." Draco didn't let his annoyance show on his face. The Order wouldn't be ready for whatever they would be doing. He wasn't ready for it.

This was not good.


	20. Chapter 20 - The Waste Land

Disclaimer – Not J.K. Rowling, not Robert Galbraith, not making money off of this.

20 – The Waste Land

"So how long have you been being a spy then?"

"First off, I'm not a spy. I'm a handler." Hermione slapped the file folder she'd just filled closed. "Are you even working on those, Ronald?"

The answer was obvious. He was leaning his chair back on two legs, feet propped up against the table, robe thrown over the back of the chair, files still sitting where she'd set them. "I can't focus on that. I'm trying to readjust my mind to Hermione Granger – spy master."

"Here, Harry, you take half." Hermione pulled the files over, kept three or four and pushed the rest toward Harry. Then she flipped through the enormous poetry anthology in front of her and stopped when she reached - "Have you used 'In Memorium of A.H.H.' yet?"

"Never heard of it," said Harry, shaking his head.

"_Effingo," _muttered Hermione. She wondered if Draco had read any of these poems. She pointed at the page in the book, then at the blank parchment next to it. The words appeared on the blank parchment and she slipped it into the file, then grabbed her quill to write on the top _"In the Matter of A.H.H._" Finished with that file, she looked up at Ron. Some days everything he said or did annoyed her. "I started at the end of October, well, it was actually November before I got the first message."

"You didn't say how you get the messages."

"No, and I'm not going to. It's not that I don't trust you. I trust both of you with my life. You know that. But . . . any of us could be captured, and who knows what ways the Death Eaters have of getting information – Veritaserum, torture, legilimency. It's just better if the specifics aren't known to very many people." None of them were any good at occulmency. Would Draco be willing to teach her?

Ron rolled his eyes, but didn't argue any more. Hermione turned back to the Table of Contents of her book, then turned to a page near the end. "Harry, have you used 'The Love Song of J. Arthur Prufrock'?"

"Nope."

"Ron, they didn't even tell me who the contact was, just how to get the messages."

"Yeah, I know."

Harry put down the file in his hands and looked at Hermione, his head cocked to one side. "But you know now, don't you?"

Hermione bit her lip, then knew right away that she shouldn't have done that. She'd just as good as answered Harry's question. She'd hoped she could just be evasive on that point, but if he was going to ask her straight out . . . .

"I found out."

"And . . . ." Ron set his chair down and leaned forward onto the table.

"And . . . that's not my secret to share." She couldn't even think about how much danger Draco would be in if Ron knew he was her contact. Not only would Ron not be willing to suffer to keep the likes of him safe, but he might even let slip to one of his siblings. With the Order infiltrated . . . it wouldn't take long for news like that to reach Old Ugly.

"Does your contact know that you know?" Ron wouldn't let up. He seemed to be approaching this like he dealt with wizard's chess, one methodical step at a time until he got where he wanted to go.

"Yes."

"And it's someone you trust."

"Yes, and I'm not answering any more questions." She glared at him to emphasize her point. "We need to get going." She copied one last poem into a file folder, then reached over for Harry's files, waved her wand over them, binding them together and shrinking all of them so that they fit easily into her bag. "Are you two ready? We need to get everything set up over at the Ministry." She stood up.

Harry stood also. "I'm ready. I've got my cloak and some hair. Do you have the polyjuice?" Hermione nodded.

"I thought you said you wanted us to meet your contact." Ron was still sitting, letting her know he wasn't distracted yet.

"I said I think it might be beneficial for us all to talk, to try to figure out some way to draw Snake Eyes out, but honestly, I'm trying to think of a way to do that without having you actually meet each other."

"Why? If you can handle this bloke why do you think we can't?"

"I never said it was a 'bloke' and it's not a question of handling them. I'm not sure you could . . . get along well enough to work together face to face."

"But you can. What? Is this Death Eater a jerk or something?"

"Can you think of any Death Eaters you could get along with?"

"No, but I can't think of any you should be getting along with either."

"You think we should just tell the spy to shove off – you're a Death Eater so we don't want the insider information you can give us."

"What does he or she want in exchange?"

"Exchange? That's not what this is about. This is someone who wants to bring Old Ugly down at least as much as we do." Hermione glanced at her watch. "We can discuss this later, but we've got to get going. We've got to get back over there and have everything in place before they get there."

Ron nodded and stood up, adjusting his robes which had gotten tangled in the chair back. "I'm ready."

"Wait. Ron." Hermione stepped closer to him and reached out to examine something he was wearing on a chain around his neck, but he grabbed it and quickly stuffed it under his jumper. "What was that?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing," he answered. He glanced down at his watch. "We'd better get going. Are we going to floo . . . ."

"Ronald, was that a dirigible plum?"

Ron's face flushed red and Hermione's suspicions were confirmed.

"It's supposed to help me see the extraordinary," he mumbled.

"I'll bet it is." Hermione smiled as she took the glass of polyjuice potion Harry was offering her.

"What's that all about?" Harry asked, but both Ron and Hermione shook their heads.

"It's nothing," said Ron again. Hermione smiled to herself, but said nothing. She'd taken a hair from a glass tube in her pocket and she dropped it into the polyjuice, swirling the glass carefully to mix it in. Once the liquid inside had changed to a consistent pale orange, she sniffed it once, then drank half of it in two long drafts. She poured the other half into a small vial, sealed it, put a cushioning charm on it and slipped it into her robes' pocket. They'd learned to always keep some extra polyjuice ready.

"Yours looks much better than mine," grumbled Harry, then plugged his nose while chugging down half of the brownish-green liquid in his glass.

Hermione turned her back to the boys as she felt her skin pulling, moving, changing. She hated watching polyjuice transformations and figured she'd spare them the sight. By the time she turned back around, Harry had become Vern, his double with lighter brown hair, and she'd taken on Allison's shape. Ron was pulling on the invisibility cloak, only his head still showing.

The three of them slipped quietly down the stairs and into the main parlour of Grimmauld Place. Shaklebolt had arranged to connect them to the floo system, just for the day, and with passwords required to return.

"Hermione, could you disillusion my feet for me?" With Ron's height he barely fit under the invisibility cloak any more. They'd taken to disillusioning his feet to keep anyone from spotting them. The disillusioning was not quite as thorough as the cloak. If someone were to be carefully studying the floor they might notice the wavering light that signified disillusionment, although it was only visible when he was moving and when the light was strong enough.

Hermione made Ron's feet disappear, then said "Wait. One more spell - _Abolesco olere._"

"What was that for?" Ron asked, as Harry's eyes echoed his question.

"It gets rid of all odors. I use it whenever I'm going somewhere that Greyback might show up. Now I don't look like Hermione and I don't smell like her either, and neither of you smell like you might have been with me."

"Brilliant," said Harry. "You should teach us that when we get back."

Ron pulled the cloak over his head and they all stepped into the fireplace. Once they were at the Ministry Harry and Hermione took the elevators to the second floor, holding the lift doors open for an extra couple of seconds to make sure that Ron had gotten on.

Outside of the Aurors' Office, Ron whispered "I'll wait out here. Do you have your coins in case I need to contact you?"

Hermione reached into her right pocket, where she had a coin charmed to communicate with Ron and Harry's coins. Her left pocket held the coin which she used to contact Draco. It was a galleon rather than a sickle, but just to make sure that she remembered which pocket held which, she'd slipped the portkey that Draco had given her into her left pocket with his coin.

Earlier in the day they'd visited the Auror Office, all under the invisibility cloak that time, and temporarily removed everything sensitive. Now they just needed to set up a few things. Shaklebolt had agreed to keep the Aurors busy today and looking around the office it appeared that no one had been in since they left.

It was Harry's job to set up the viewing holes, so that he and Hermione could watch everything that went on from the adjacent office. He reviewed the map of London on the wall then chose the pin over the town of Grimsby to enchant. From the office side it looked no different, but on the other side of the wall there was now a peep hole. Next he found a copy of the old Order of the Phoenix picture on the next wall over. He used the spell on one of Dumbledore's eyes. Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him and she felt an uncomfortable swelling in her throat. That was perfect.

Meanwhile, she'd brought a small empty file cabinet with her. She enlarged it, then returned the files, now full of poetry, to their normal sizes, then put them in the file cabinet. When she was done she set the cabinet in a corner they'd cleared for this purpose. Finally, she got ready to make it disappear, using a spell that was not quite dark magic, but still some rather obscure blood magic. They'd decided that blood magic was the best way to make the cabinet convincingly top secret. They'd gotten some of Hestia's blood from Mad-Eye Moody's stores, which had contained some blood from each of the Aurors working under him. A bit of research had revealed that, even though Bellatrix would be polyjuiced as Hestia, her blood wouldn't be Hestia's blood, but Draco had been sure that Bellatrix would have taken some of Hestia's blood as well as her hair and they would use that.

Hermione checked her notes for the incantation. Her voice trembled just a bit as she sprinkled the vial of Hestia's blood onto the filing cabinet. As soon as she finished the cabinet vanished, leaving only an empty corner.

"We're all set then," Hermione announced.

Harry checked his watch and nodded. "Let's get into place." They stopped by to check in with Ron, still waiting in the hall. "Don't forget," said Harry solemnly, "You're here in case anything strange happens. Let us know by coin if you have to leave this spot."

Ron nodded and Harry and Hermione went into the innocuous looking office, labeled "Albert Snowdon," Assistant Clerk to the Wizengamot." Hermione wasn't sure whether Albert Snowdon existed or not, but his purported office was an empty L-shaped room, with a back passage that went behind the Auror Office. Hermione would watch through the peephole in that passage and Harry would be in the regular part of the office. Hopefully, having two different perspectives would help them to see everything. Hermione had only shared with Draco the details of the plan that directly involved him and that didn't include anything about their surveillance plans. He probably suspected that they'd be watching, but not knowing any details would make it easier for him to act naturally. She wondered if it was difficult for him to play the part of the faithful Death Eater. Was it exhausting to be constantly acting?

Once they were in place there was nothing to do but wait. Hermione lit her wand and pulled Snape's potions journal out, turning to his Wolfsbane Potion recipe. It was fascinating to see the notes in the margins, to be able to see which ones he'd crossed out, what he had replaced them with. It was almost like watching a master experiment, using different combinations, different variations until he found the most potent recipe. Today, though, she couldn't focus.

What was going on with Draco? Just when she'd convinced herself that he'd changed, that all that he'd been through had made him a fundamentally different person, suddenly he was back to being a git. Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe he did still hate her, or at least find her repulsive because she was a 'mudblood.'

But that couldn't be true. First of all, he'd saved Ginny. If he wasn't dedicated to bringing down Snake Eyes there was no reason why he would've almost died to make sure that his boss didn't get a hold of Ginny.

Although – just because he wanted to bring down the Dark Lord didn't mean that he wasn't still a bigot, wasn't still a judgmental snob. Except that she'd seen how he treated Nappy. Not just that, but Nappy was obviously very fond of him. There was real affection there and it went both ways.

Sometimes it seemed that his feelings for her had changed as well. Obviously he didn't hurl insults at her anymore. Was that just because there was no audience? Then why did he seem to want to protect her when they were in the pensieve? Why did he get so angry when he thought she was being careless? Why did he look at her almost as though he . . . .

Suddenly, one of her pockets grew warm – the left one. It was a message from him. It was blunt: "Greyback's coming." Hermione breathed a sigh of relief that she'd remembered to vanish her scent. She was just settling back to read when a thought shot into her mind.

Her scent would still linger from her visit earlier in the day. With the werewolf's heightened senses, he'd surely be able to find the traces from that visit and they would lead him right to the Auror Office. Even if he didn't find her current hiding place, knowing she'd visited the office earlier in the day, particularly since she wasn't an Auror, might throw the entire operation into suspicion, and, truth be told, she didn't want him prowling about in the hall just feet from where she was. This was the kind of thing that Draco meant when he said she was careless. Why hadn't she gotten rid of her scent after her visit earlier? She needed to do something about this.

She dashed past a puzzled Harry. "I'll be right back. I'm not going far."

"What are you . . . ." She didn't pause to answer him. That could wait until she got back.

She stepped into the hall and was annoyed to see a dumpy witch coming down the hall towards her. It was Saturday. What kind of Ministry workers worked on Saturday? She turned and walked toward the witch, careful not to look at her too much or too little – just two co-workers passing in the hall. She gave her a non-commital nod as they passed, then strode purposefully around the nearest corner. It was amazingly difficult to walk at a calm pace. Her heart was pounding. She waited a few minutes, then peeked back around. She was gone. Ron must be laughing at her, although it was getting late. They'd be here soon. This really wasn't funny.

"_Abolesco olere._" She cast the spell as she walked down the hall. She needed to get rid of all her scent on this floor. There wasn't time to deal with the rest of the building. As she hurried toward the elevators she heard Ron's muffled steps next to her.

"_What gives?"_ he whispered.

"Greyback's coming. I'm getting the scents off of this floor. I'll be right back. I'm just going to the elevator and back."

She heard his steps stop. He must be returning to his post. She was almost to the elevator when she heard the magical voice that announced the floors. It was faint, not yet on this floor, but it might be here soon. "_Abolesco olere."_ That should be enough.

She turned and jogged back to Mr. Snowdon's office, prepared to slow to a walk if the elevator doors opened, but she reached the office door and slipped inside before anything happened.

"Hermione! Where did you go?" Harry stood directly in her path.

"Sorry. I got a message that Greyback's coming. I had to go get my scent off of this floor. I can't believe I forgot to do that when we were here earlier today."

"Hey, come on, take a deep breath. You got it done. It's fine." Harry was all too used to calming her down when she started to get too self-critical.

"I know. I'm okay. I just wish . . . I wish I'd had time to go down to the lobby, clear my scent off of the elevators, get all of that done."

"Don't worry. If it's off of this floor, it'll be fine. He's not coming here to find you. Now, you need to get back to your post. We don't want extra movement in here once they get here."

"Okay. Don't forget – it's time to take more polyjuice. I'll see you when they're gone." Hermione hurried off to her perch. She could still feel the adrenaline rushing through her system. Before she turned the corner she paused. "Harry, thanks."

He gave her a quick smile. She settled back in on the stool she had set up by her viewing hole, after taking another drink of her polyjuice potion. What she hated the most about this whole Greyback thing was the feeling that they were trying to throw her off her game by making his weird obsession with her so obvious. However, even though she suspected this, it was working. She was overreacting, panicking. She just hated the sensation of having him sniff her out, having him try to hunt her down like she was some pathetic little forest creature.

It didn't matter. Her scent was gone. Everything was fine.

She had hardly reopened Snape's journal when she felt heat from her right pocket.

"_She's coming."_ They hadn't actually asked Ron to let them know when he saw Hestia, well, Bellatrix, approaching, but she was glad he had. It seemed like an eternity before she heard the door to the Auror Office softly open, then click shut. Peering through, she could see flashes of movement. She cast an enlargement spell on the peek hole and then she could see the whole office easily.

"The fools!" Bellatrix snarled. She looked like Hestia, but not the Hestia they'd known. Her face was drawn into a snarl. Her eyes were cold and bitter. "I can't believe they're relying on nothing more than a password. Mudblood fools!" She spoke with Bellatrix's typical snarl.

"They've made our jobs easier, Aunt. Don't complain too much."

She couldn't see him, but she could hear his voice, smooth, like warm milk pouring into a mug.

"Yeah, well, where would such fools hide their most precious secrets?"

"Maybe they're not hidden at all. They're not expecting company. Let's see what they've left out."

He was playing it cool, not rushing for the files they'd hidden. He was good at this.

"Nothing," she snapped. "Just their little write-ups of our vicious attacks. Oh, look, did you know we killed 42 orphans? Not bad for a failed attack." Hermione smirked to herself. She hadn't been able to resist the chance to reinforce the fraud they'd played that day.

"Yes, well, that little 'failed attack' led to hideous pain for me, so forgive me, Aunt, if I'm not eager to relive the fond memories." Hermione was a bit surprised by the harsh tone he took with Bellatrix. She'd never heard anyone speak to the insane witch like that.

"No, I'd imagine not." Bellatrix didn't look particularly sympathetic, but she didn't seem angry either. Hermione frowned. She'd almost forgotten that they were actually family.

They searched through the one visible filing cabinet. "What is all of this rubbish? Do they have to fill out a form every time they request more parchment?"

"Apparently." Draco held up some sort of a form he'd pulled from a file. "Careful, Aunt, we don't want them to know we've been here."

All things considered, Bellatrix was actually doing pretty well at not disturbing anything. Snake Eyes must have been persuasive.

She slammed a drawer shut. "That's ridiculous. There's got to be more here. We need to find something useful."

"Relax. It's time to start looking for the things they've hidden."

"Fools. How could they think they could hide anything from us?"

"Exactly. _Adapertio_." Hermione wondered if Draco found it ironic that his aunt, for all her bragging, hadn't been the one who knew the necessary spell. If she only knew who'd taught it to Draco . . . no, that wouldn't end well.

Just as they'd planned the planted file cabinet glowed white. If she'd been thinking she could have made sure that there were a couple of other hidden items to show up under that spell. That'd be less suspicious, but it would also take them longer, so maybe this way was just as well.

Bellatrix hurried to the corner and felt around the invisible file cabinet. Draco let her try a couple of different spells to reveal it. Hermione smiled when Bellatrix was the one who announced "Let's try blood magic. Maybe they're not all useless idiots." She pulled a vial of dark red liquid from her robes. Watching her handle blood she'd taken from their now dead friend made Hermione shudder. Bellatrix tossed a couple drops of it carelessly in the corner and the file cabinet immediately shimmering into sight.

"Jackpot. This must be where they keep the good stuff then. Let's just copy all of it and go." Draco's voice had a touch of urgency. He couldn't be anxious to drag this process out.

"Maybe. Or maybe it's all still requests for quills. Wait. What is this nonsense? It's gibberish.'April is the cruellest month'? My birthday's in April."

"They're on to something then."

"Funny." Bellatrix didn't laugh at his joke, but, once again, it was strange to see their easy back and forth.

Bellatrix held the first file she'd pulled out up and obviously let Draco read it over her shoulder.

"No, Aunt. This is good. There's no reason they'd keep a cabinet full of nonsense. It must be in code."

"That's no good to us then! We can't bring back a bunch of useless stuff." Bellatrix sounded almost frightened. Certainly she didn't want to disappoint Flat Face. And Bellatrix was one of his favorites. Of course, given what had happened to Draco . . . .

"It'll be fine. Come on, Aunt. They're mudbloods. We can break their code. Here, I'm going to copy everything – _effingo totalus_. The fools probably left the key to their code in the same cabinet. But even if they didn't, we can break this. It'll be fun."

They'd have to work on that. What would be the best way to reveal their invented code? Maybe let them steal a briefcase?

Just then, the coin in Hermione's right pocket burned through to her hip. _"Shouting coming from down the hall. Going to investigate."_ That wasn't good. For one thing, it'd be a lot harder to find Ron since they wouldn't be able to see him and they couldn't exactly send a patronus to hunt him down, not if there were a bunch of Death Eaters around. For another thing, it meant there were other Death Eaters on the floor. That could only complicate things.

Draco and Bellatrix seemed to be almost done. He was just shrinking the copied files.

Hermione jumped when she realized that Harry was standing just behind her. "_Clausus totus auditurus,"_ he whispered, carefully blocking all sound from the office next door. She looked away from the peephole, her eyes adjusting to the dark corridor. _"Would you mind if I went to help Ron? This is under control and we don't want to lose him when we can't see him."_

Just what she'd been thinking. She nodded silently. Harry slipped quietly out of the office. She didn't hear the door so he must've remembered to cast a silencing spell.

Meanwhile, Bellatrix and Draco were about to leave. "Wait, Aunt." Draco cast some spell she couldn't really hear, but it must have been to return everything to its former position as the hidden cabinet disappeared and the papers on the desk rearranged themselves slightly. This time Hermione noticed Bellatrix, still polyjuiced as Hestia, holding the door opened behind herself, letting Draco through.

Hermione checked her watch. That'd been quicker than she expected. She still had a good fifteen minutes left before she needed more polyjuice.

She slipped an extendable ear under the door, listening for the approach and departure of the elevator which would mean that Bellatrix had left. After hearing it, she waited a bit more, listening. No sound. They must be gone.

Then she heard a faint, distant cry – "No, please!" It was followed by a foreboding thunk. Someone needed help. She quickly gathered her things, shrunk them and slipped them into her robes, then hurried out into the hall.

She paused and listened. There were voices down a nearby corridor. She turned the corner in time to see a Death Eater striding toward a wide-eyed older man, who was sprawled on his back in the hall.

"_Stupefy!" _The Death Eater knelt down to pick up the man's fallen wand and the spell shot just over his head. He whipped around, glaring at her, his mask off. She'd seen him before, the Russian one. Then around the corner came snarling and rushing – Greyback!

Hermione ran. She turned and ran down the hall as fast as she could, realizing too late that was the worst thing she could've done. She should have played it cool, shot some spells at them, disarmed them, petrified them. Now she'd drawn their attention and she had to keep running. She couldn't hit them as she ran. She shot back an obscuring spell, then hurried down a joining hallway. She made as many turns and twists as she could, hoping to lose them in the labyrinth halls of the ministry, but she could still hear them coming, and now she was good and lost. Of course, she was being foolish. She might not smell like Hermione Granger, but she still had a scent and Greyback could track her.

She racked her brain for another spell. She sent an ice spell over her shoulder and heard cursing as they slipped, but their voices, their heavy footfalls kept coming.

"_Bombarda!"_ A nearby wall exploded and she was thrown against the opposite side of the hall. Her head rang from the impact. She went to cast some sort of shield spell, give herself a moment to regroup, then realized with a jolt that her wand was gone. It must've been knocked from her hand. She groped about on her knees, the dust blocking her vision.

"_Crudus sensim_!" The spell came quickly and a searing pain shot through her, a slicing from her shoulder down her arm, onto her torso and all the way down to her hip. It took her a minute to know that the red splattering everywhere was her own blood, lots of it. She went to stand and gasped. The pain knocked her back.

"I got her!" The Russian was triumphant. "Come on, Fenrir! Are you hungry?"

If only she could find her wand, then she could – what? She'd think of something. Could she use the coin? Call for help? Could they get here fast enough? Maybe if they were close. Her hand slipped into her pocket. The sides of her vision were going black, as though a tunnel was closing in on her. She couldn't lift her head. She was losing so much blood. Her fingers touched the cool metal of the portkey. Draco had said it would take her back and forth from headquarters to the cottage, but she needed her wand!

She ran her hands over the ground around her, then her fingers felt the precious wood! Her wand!

Greyback's leering face jumped at her out of the still-clearing smoke, all teeth.

"_Portus!" _Even as she felt the pull of the portkey, the darkness swirled all around her and she blacked out.

So sorry for the delay in updating – real life and computer problems conspiring against me. Thanks so much for your patience. Hope this was worth the wait. Thanks so much for your many encouraging reviews. If you haven't reviewed – try it! Let me know what you like, what you don't like, what you didn't get, what your favorite type of ice cream is. I'd love to hear from you.


	21. Chapter 21 - Dissolving

**Disclaimer – Just to refresh your memories – I'm not J.K. Rowling, not even under a pseudonym, and I don't own her characters or plot devices, like all of those nifty spells. I'm also not making any money doing this, but I am having a very good time.**

21 – Dissolving

"No, Draco. You got your way with the Auror Office, and I was very good, wasn't I? But now? Now, it's time for some fun." Bellatrix's polyjuice had worn off. Draco found himself missing the calmer appearance of the dead auror's face. His aunt's eyes were bright as she scanned the empty halls, hungry for victims. "We need to bring some toys back to the Dark Lord, and just because we raise a little ruckus in the Ministry doesn't mean they'll know we got in upstairs."

"Fine. Let's at least go to a different floor. The less they know we've been on this floor the better."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes, but didn't protest any more as they entered the elevator. Draco rolled his shoulders, trying to release the tension in his neck. He could just leave her to it, but this probably counted as his mission, so if anything went wrong he'd be the one punished. The thought caused his stomach to tighten. Not to mention that failing to show the expected level of bloodlust was, in and of itself, suspicious.

Bellatrix's hand wavered over the elevator buttons. "Hmm, how about . . . Level 4 . . . the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?" She read the title aloud in a high sing-song voice. "Maybe we can find something interesting there – have centaur steaks for dinner."

Draco suppressed a shudder. How could anyone enjoy fear and pain as much as she did? He ignored her, but his hand lay lightly on his wand. He'd seen how quickly she turned on her own sister. It wouldn't take much for her to turn on him too.

"Coming with me?" she asked as she skipped onto the 4th floor.

He didn't answer, but followed her out of the elevator.

She turned to him and scolded him, waving a long finger in his face. "Remember, terror is part of our job. They need to fear us. So . . . I figure it's playtime until we've got too many to carry or he calls us back."

"There don't seem to be many victims about tonight," Draco observed. That was good as it would minimize the mayhem, but bad for whomever the unlucky few were who were in the building.

"Shh. Listen. I hear something. Let's go look." There was no plausible reason not to follow her, at least none their demented leader would understand. They had just taken a few steps when they heard voices approaching from the hall leading to the Division of Wizarding Records. Draco pressed himself up against one wall, while Bellatrix took the other and they prepared to ambush whoever came around the corner.

Just as their victims were about to come into range Draco heard, "Slow down, Greyback, the moon's not full yet."

It was tempting to blast away, but Draco lowered his wand, as did Bellatrix, with a grimace of exaggerated annoyance. "Antonin," she whispered just as he came around the corner.

"Bloody hell!" Draco laughed at the Russian's startled exclamation. "No time to chat," Fenrir snarled as he continued down the hall. "Places to go."

"See anyone on this floor?" Bellatrix asked.

"No, but we've been busy. Special mission." He smirked as he walked away, clearly enjoying the fact that the Dark Lord hadn't told either of them about his job.

"Your _special _dog is getting away." Draco hadn't noticed it before, but Bellatrix seemed to have at least as much disdain for Dolohov and the werewolf as he did. Maybe she just hated the suggestion that the Dark Lord was favoring them. Bellatrix's robes billowed as she turned to hurry down the corridor.

Fenrir was already on the elevator. "Hurry up," he called. "I know she's up there."

"How is it you think you already know what floor she's on?" Antonin answered.

"She chose the 4th floor. Her scent is fresh, right here."

Draco had to follow his aunt. He couldn't let anyone know that he was suddenly having difficulty getting a decent lungful of air. Why was she here? He'd sent her the warning. Had she just ignored him? Why did she always have to be so insanely reckless? Should he try to warn her again? What would he say? She hadn't listened before. She wouldn't listen now. The best he could hope for was that she'd stay hidden, stay out of sight until they were gone.

A half hour later he was about to lose his mind. The long empty halls were endless. He couldn't stop trying to hear what was happening upstairs, which was, obviously, impossible. He tried to distract himself by pondering the next step of their deception with the codes, but he couldn't think of anything. They needed to somehow plant the key to the code and if it was too easy to get it that would be too suspicious. Hermione had been unable to stop bouncing in her chair when she told him Muggle war stories. Apparently, she'd long been fascinated by the Muggle spy world. Putting her ideas into practice in the wizarding world was going to be tricky. For one thing, Muggles didn't have to worry about legilimency. Maybe Granger was already safe back at headquarters sketching out ideas. Or maybe Fenrir had already flung her over his shoulder and was carrying her off to his lair . . . .

Bellatrix turned and stomped down yet another hallway. For the first time Draco could remember he was hoping to feel the burn of his mark, hoping they'd be pulled back to the dreary cave. He was going spare worrying about what was going on upstairs. He'd suggested going up to get the others and leave since there was obviously no one here. They'd gotten fantastic stuff from the Auror Office. That'd make the Dark Lord happy enough, but Bellatrix was sure she'd heard something again on this floor. Then he heard the slam of a distant door and the murmur of voices.

"Yes!" hissed Bellatrix, "I knew there was someone here. Sounds like a bunch of them too."

Draco just nodded at her, griping his wand. He'd have to bring one back himself. With just the two of them it'd be too conspicuous if he didn't.

Once again they prepared an ambush. This time the approaching voices were obviously a mix of wizards and goblins. They must've had some sort of meeting.

Bellatrix shot him a gleeful smile and he leered one back at her. He couldn't let her get suspicious. At least a battle would distract him from his worries about Granger.

He and his aunt shot stunning spells at nearly the same time. They crossed each other in the center of the hall and goblins began to fall. It was too easy as the goblins had no wands and the wizards with them were caught off guard. In only a few moments there were a half dozen unconscious goblins and a couple of wizards out also. Bellatrix was distracted as she duelled two elderly wizards. Draco ducked into a recessed doorway, then summoned one of the goblin's bodies. He disillusioned the unconscious goblin, then paused to catch his breath.

A movement down the empty hall way caught his eye – Nappy!

What could Nappy possibly be doing here? The elf was wide-eyed and terrified as Bellatrix and the wizards continued to shoot spells at each other, but Nappy gestured frantically for Draco. Her hands were filthy.

"What?" Draco mouthed. Nappy shook her head rapidly and vanished. With a slight "pop," which could barely be heard over the snarling and cursing of the battling wizards, she reappeared beside him in the doorway, where she pressed herself back against the wall so the others couldn't see her. She was shaking so much that he feared her eyeballs would come loose.

"Master! Nappy is sorry. Miss is needing 'help me,' lots of help me."

Draco usually had no trouble interpreting house elf-speak, but at the moment he was flummoxed. Then he realized that it wasn't dirt on her hands. It was blood. He looked intently at his elf as she repeated again and again "Miss is needing 'help me.'" He wasn't sure of the specifics, but he knew who 'Miss' was and she must be seriously hurt.

"Where is she?" he whispered, his mind already spinning. How could he get out of here?

"Cottage. Is bad."

He nodded. "Nappy, take this goblin. I'll meet you there." His aunt would be puzzled, maybe even angry, when she couldn't find him, but he'd claim he'd left to go deliver the first of the goblins. Nappy had already vanished. Draco grabbed another unconscious goblin and reached into his pocket for his own portkey home.

As soon as he landed, he felt his foot slip and almost fell to the ground, ungracefully grabbing Nappy's head to steady himself. He looked down to see that the slippery substance was blood. It was all over. Face down in the middle of it was Hermione, her wild curls matted to her head. His stomach lurched. The air was thick with the smell of her blood. He steadied himself. He needed to get to work.

"Nappy, take the goblins. Tie them up and put them somewhere out of the way." He could send Nappy back to the Ministry to let him know what was going on there, so that he could make sure that his cover story fit, but he needed her more here.

"Can you clean her and put her in some clean clothes?" While Nappy tended to Hermione he cast several quick 'scourgifies' on the room. As he'd expected, Nappy had her lying blood free on the sofa and wearing some of his pajamas transfigured to fit her faster than he ever could have. He took a deep breath. Maybe this situation was manageable.

He began to check her injuries. She had cuts all over her, some bleeding badly. Now that she was cleaner he could see that her skin was dangerously white, her lips turning blue. One cheek was already purpling with a bruise. He just needed to heal her injuries one at a time. The biggest problem was her blood loss. It was obvious from the amount of blood he'd seen that she'd lost quite a bit.

"Episkey." He healed the first cut which ran along her cheek. He gently turned her head then - "episkey" - healed a slice down her neck. She'd worked on him for hours, but he didn't have that kind of time. He could be summoned at any moment. "Episkey." He healed another wound, this one on her shoulder.

She moaned slightly and he glanced up at her face. With horror, he realized that the cut he'd healed there had already reopened. What was this spell? It had to be some sort of dark curse.

"Master? Nappy is healing cuts and is not stay healed. Cuts come back." Of course. If it'd been simple to heal her, Nappy would've done it. He fought down the panic threatening to overwhelm him.

If this was a dark curse, he'd just have to figure out what it was. He could do this – if he didn't run out of time.

He took a deep breath and concentrated on summoning some books from upstairs. They flew down the hall to him. He grabbed the first one and tore it open - "Dark Death: Slow and Painful or Quick and Brutal, Killing Spells Your Mother Never Told You About." This was one of Severus's books. Hopefully, the antidotes would be there – either in the text or Severus's notes. He glanced down the Table of Contents, but it was too long. There were too many unfamiliar spells. There was no time.

"Hermione?" If he could get her conscious again, then she could tell him what the spell had been. He shook her gently, but her head lolled from side to side. Nothing. Her skin was so cold. Was that from the blood loss? How much blood had she lost?

"Ennervate."

Her eyes popped open and she gasped. "Oh, ow, what . . . ." Her breathing was harsh and obviously pained. She gave a faint moan, then her eyes rolled back in her head and she was out again.

"No." This was bad. She was barely hanging on. He needed to get her to stay awake, but she was clearly in no shape to tell him anything. What if - maybe he could rouse her just long enough do legilimency. He hesitated. He hated to wake her when she was so obviously in pain, but he was fast running out of other options. He sat down and pulled her head into his lap, the blood seeping onto his robes.

"Ennervate." This time as soon as her eyes opened he was ready. He went in. He didn't need to look very long before he heard it: "_Crudus sensim_!" Of course, it had been Dolohov. Strange – he didn't seem to recognize her. Surely, he knew what Harry Potter's closest friends looked like.

Draco grabbed Severus's book and searched for the name, then almost laughed out loud when he found it. He flipped the page, found the chapter. There it was – it meant "bleed slowly." The illustration was gruesome. With horror he realized that the bruise on her face was probably one of many bruises all over her body. The cuts weren't just external, they were internal too.

This was meant to kill her slowly. The question was how slowly.

Severus's notes filled the margin. Was it there? Please. Yes – that must be it, must be the counter spell - "_sanare sensim_." He wasted no time and cast the spell. He saw a soft golden light cover her body, then it seemed to seep into her wounds, and then . . . nothing. The cuts remained, the bruises didn't change. It hadn't worked.

He gripped his face harshly with both hands. Now what? His breath was coming in shallow pants. She was going to die. He'd done his best and it wasn't enough. "No, no, no." It took him a moment to realize that was his own voice. She couldn't die. He needed her.

"Master?" Nappy's voice was a whisper. She was at his side. She took a handkerchief and gently wiped his face. Only then did he realize that it had been wet with his tears. "Master is not give up."

"Nappy – she needs a healer. She needs to get to St. Mungo's, but I don't think she's strong enough to . . . ." He'd try one more thing. Maybe there would be a miracle. Maybe it would work.

"Nappy, get me the blood replenishing potion. Quickly." There wasn't enough. It wouldn't be enough.

He closed his eyes tightly. He had to think of something. Why didn't the counterspell work? Nappy was right. He couldn't give up. Maybe there was something in Severus's notes to explain what he was doing wrong.

Just then he felt it – his arm was burning. "No, no, no!" He only had two minutes. His eyes were wide now. He stared at her face, wishing she were conscious, wishing she could help him, wishing this wouldn't be the last time that he'd see her lovely face. He frowned – her face – the cut was gone! The spell was working! It was just slow.

"Nappy!" The elf was already there. "I have to go. You need to take Miss to St. Mungo's. Can you . . . change your appearance? I don't want anyone there to recognize you."

Even as he finished explaining, Nappy's face was already shifting. She looked older, her features sharper, sort of a female version of Kreacher.

"Is Miss strong enough to apparate?"

"I don't know." He poured the blood replenishing potion into her mouth and spelled her to swallow it, but as he'd known, there was barely any left. It wasn't enough.

She opened her eyes. "Draco? I don't feel good. My head hurts."

"I know. Nappy's going to take you to St. Mungo's."

She gripped tightly onto his arm. "No. No. I'll splinch. Don't send me." This wasn't good. He needed her to let go before the pull came. He looked desperately at Nappy, who came over to take her, but she just held onto Draco's arm more feverishly. He started to pull her off. He didn't want to hurt her, but . . . . He had an idea.

"Accio Amorita!" The fresh potion flew into his hand. "Hermione, here – take this. It'll make you feel better. It'll make you strong enough to apparate." She nodded, and loosened her grip to take the potion. He quickly jumped up and stepped away from her. He had no idea how the potion would affect her, but it shouldn't hurt her. It wouldn't have the amazing power it had when he took it, but it should help, and it would be enough to calm her. The worst thing for apparating was to be convinced that it wouldn't work. This should be enough so that Nappy could take her.

"St. Mungo's," he reminded the elf. He quickly cleaned his robes, then did the spell to remove her scent. He felt the pull and remembered at the last minute "_Accio_, goblin." Hermione wouldn't like it if the goblin were killed, but without bringing one he'd be punished again. This time the Dark Lord would want to make sure he didn't heal so quickly. He decided to leave the other one, and disappeared.

The cave was already loud with the strange squealing screams of another goblin. The one Draco held was bound securely, but he woke and began to thrash. Draco petrified him, not wanting him to draw attention. He felt such a rush of relief that Hermione was going to be okay. Maybe he could do this. Maybe he could think of some way to save this random goblin. He'd never liked goblins, but hearing one scream was doing strange things to his gut.

He looked down at the wide-eyed horror frozen on the face of his goblin. If he needed to do legilimency it would be easy, but what would be gained? Everyone knew that goblins took extraordinary precautions to make sure that they couldn't give up their secrets – not through torture, not through legilimency, not even Veritaserum worked on them. Too bad. They ran Gringott's; they'd probably have all sorts of useful information.

Suddenly, he had an idea. This could work. All he needed to do was a bit of "imperio" and he knew that could work on goblins.

It was more than two hours later when Draco got back to the Cottage, his mind was swirling. He'd gambled with the goblin, but it had worked, at least for now. And later . . . Hermione could help him. They could use this. Hermione – how was she?

"Nappy?" Nappy stood there, smiling. That had to mean . . . .

"Miss is better, Master." He felt a surge of relief, and decided he'd better sit before he collapsed. He couldn't remember having a longer day or ever being so tired.

"She's at St. Mungo's?"

"Yes, cuts is gone. Face is pink. Toes is glowing blue. " Good. Wait – what?

"Her toes are glowing?"

"Yes," Nappy seemed to think this was a wonderful development. "Fingers is too. Healers is looking at them a lot."

Blue? The counter spell had been gold. Why would she be glowing blue? The Amorita was blue. What had he done?

"But she's okay?"

"Yes. Miss is okay. Master need sleep."

Draco lay back on the sofa. Nappy was right. He closed his eyes.

_Draco apparated into the hospital room. He looked to the figure on the bed to see if the noise had startled her, but she was still, too still. Her body glowed faintly blue, giving the entire dark room an eerie blue sheen. He stood back, watching. Was she breathing? He stared intently, but saw no movement, no sign that she was alive. He had to check. He approached her cautiously, afraid to know, but he had to find out. He reached out to her, reaching, reaching, until, finally, the fingers of his right hand brushed her arm. It was cold as ice, but at his touched she jerked upright. She let out a piercing scream. There was a great blue flash, then she fell back, her head falling limply to the side, her eyes empty. She was dead._

Draco leaped to his feet, then staggered back and sat heavily on the sofa. It was a dream. It was only a dream. He reached up to loosen the neck of his shirt and felt the cold sweat on his skin. It was just a dream. Hermione was fine. Unless . . . why was she glowing blue? Had he made a terrible mistake? When she'd said her head hurt_, _his mind had flashed to the Amorita. It always soothed his headaches. It made him feel so much better, but it was made specifically for him with his mother's tears. What if it were dangerous for anyone else? Would he even know? What if it wasn't intended for a muggleborn?

"Nappy!" This was going to make him insane. He had to see her.Nappy appeared, maybe slightly slower than usual, her eyes not as bright as they usually were. Of course, he'd woken her. "I'm sorry, Nappy, but I need you to take me to St. Mungo's." Apparating wasn't usually allowed beyond the waiting room, but Nappy had been to her room earlier and the usual restrictions on apparating seemed to have no effect on house elves.

Nappy gave him a small smile. "Of course, Master," and she held her hand out to him. He took a moment to straighten his robes, then Nappy waved her hand and he felt some sort of charm wash over him.

"Master not mussed," she said. He smiled and thanked her with a nod. He waved his own wand, disillusioning both of them, then reached out into the air and found the warmth of her small hand. He felt the distinctive pull of house elf apparition, then they were in a dark hall of St. Mungo's. A soft candlelight lit the passage.

Draco felt a slight pull on the hand that Nappy still held, although she was still disillusioned. The elf came close and whispered "Miss is gone. Miss's room not here now." Sure enough the room just in front of them was empty.

"Do you think she . . . ." He couldn't say it. Was she already gone? Had his dream come true?

"Master be seeing if they moved Miss." Yes. Nappy was right. Draco pulled on her hand, put a quick silencing charm on their feet, and they hurried down the hall to the desk where a grey-haired night nurse was making notes on a long roll of parchment. Draco tapped with his wand on the front of her desk. She looked up, puzzled, and he whispered _"imperio."_ Without a word the witch stood and walked to a file cabinet behind her, where she pulled out a short parchment. She cast some sort of spell on it, and he could see the name "Hermione Granger" appear on the paper. The imperioused witch turned to him and said, in a stiff voice, "Hermione Granger is now in room 415." He had her put the paper back, close the drawer and sit again. "_Obliviate._ _Finite Incantatem."_ She went back to work and he felt Nappy pull on his hand. Apparently, the elf knew where Room 415 was.

The elevator buttons noted that the 4th floor was for "Experimental and Inexplicable Magic." Was that why she'd been moved here? As they stepped off of the elevator on the 4th floor, they immediately heard voices, although, luckily, no one was close enough to wonder why the elevator doors opened without anyone visible exiting. Draco paused. He knew those voices. At least they knew they were in the right place. He drew closer and confirmed that it was indeed Harry Potter and Ron Weasley whispering intently. He cast a quick magnifying spell on his own hearing to see if he could make out their words, even while he was getting closer and closer to them.

" . . . too trusting for her own good. Whose damn idea was it for her to work with Death Eaters anyway?"

"Ron, she said she felt fantastic. Maybe they weren't trying to . . . . "

"You forget I know what a love potion feels like. I felt fine, but I was completely screwed up." Draco smirked. Someone'd given Weasley a love potion? Who'd be daft enough to do that?

"I was there. You weren't fine. You were desperate and obsessed. She wasn't acting like that at all." Wait. This was Hermione they were talking about.

"But I was the last one to know my head'd been messed with. I couldn't even remember that I wasn't interested in . . . ."

"The healers didn't all agree that it was a love potion. In fact, all we heard was the one saying he'd seen a love potion overdose cause glowing fingers, but that was glowing pink. We can't jump to . . . ."

"They're trying to trick her. Trying to make her think they're not monsters, trying to take away her judgment. We need to find out what sort of things they've been trying to get her to . . . ."

Draco realized with a jolt what had happened. Somehow they thought Hermione'd been given a love potion, but Amorita wasn't a love potion, at least not the usual kind. He stopped walking and pulled Nappy into a side hall.

"Nappy, I need you to go back to the Cottage. Check Professor Snape's books. See if any of them have a chapter on Amorita. If they do, bring them to me. If not, let me know as soon as you can."

Nappy nodded. "Master, wait here?"

"Yes, although if I can find a way to get into her room, I'll be in there." It wasn't until after Nappy was gone, that Draco realized it probably would've made more sense for him to go back and check the books himself. Oh well, Nappy could probably handle that. Meanwhile, he needed to see Hermione. At least Potter and Weasley seemed to think she was in good health, fantastic even. He'd feel better if he could see her for himself though.

The door to her room was slightly ajar, but not wide enough for him to fit through. He should've had Nappy apparate him inside before she left. Now, . . . what to do? He was fairly sure that Hermione would forgive him for the imperio since that had been an emergency. However, she would be less forgiving if he kept using it, particularly if he used it on either of her best friends.

He was still standing in the hall pondering what to do, when part of the solution presented itself.

"Oy, Harry, all of this stress is making me hungry. I'm going down to the kitchens. Do you want anything?"

"No, I'm fine." Potter slumped into a chair near the door to Hermione's room. Apparently these two were acting as bodyguards or something.

Once Weasley was gone, Draco decided to try something he'd seen on the Knight Bus. He cast an elongation charm on himself and felt his body stretch until he had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the rather high ceiling. It was difficult since he was still disillusioned and therefore, he couldn't see his own body. He sucked his breath in and pressed his back against the door frame. Sure enough, he was now tall and thin enough to slip through the 3 inch crack in the doorway. He moved inch by inch. Potter was sitting just inches away. Finally, he was all the way through. He slumped against the wall of her room while he felt his body returning to normal.

She was beautiful in the darkness, her curls flattened against her pillow. Her cheeks looked slightly pink even in the dim light. Thank God she wasn't glowing all over, although he could see her blue fingers and blue light shining through her blanket from her toes. Amazing.

He walked over to her. Now that he was here he was afraid to touch her. It was ridiculous. In his dream touching her had made her condition worse and since he knew nothing about this strange blue glow he didn't want to risk it. He leaned closer so that he could smell her, could feel her warmth. Without thinking his lips brushed her temple. He kissed her as though she was a tea cup of the most delicate porcelain china. He jumped back. Why had he done that? And just after he'd decided not to touch her At least he'd felt her skin and it wasn't cold. In fact, it was wonderfully soft and warm.

Still he didn't feel he could risk any more than that. Here he was, a wanted Death Eater, here in her room, which was guarded by her two best friends. Better not to push things.

He frowned. Why were these Order types always so careless with their security? With her security? He should never have been able to get into her room. Why weren't there any wards? Was it because they were used to relying on Hermione to set the wards?

Greyback was still looking for her. He'd smelled her blood when she was hurt at the Ministry. While they'd been gathered back at the cave Draco'd figured out that she must've been polyjuiced when she was injured. Dolohov had no idea that was Hermione, but after she'd vanished Greyback had figured out that she'd been there. The werewolf rarely thought things through enough to calculate that she could be at St. Mungo's, but Dolohov might.

Draco'd been thinking that he'd leave as soon as Nappy got back, but no. He was going to stay here. "_Protego totalum, salvo hexia." _He started with the basic protective spells, then paused for a moment before setting up a ward. He made sure that Potter, Weasley, and all of the other Order members he knew of would be admitted, then added all of the healers, Nappy and himself. Finally, he added a protection against anyone under the imperius. Once all of that was done, he conjured a comfortable chair for himself and disillusioned it.

It was going to be a long night.

**AN – Thanks so much to my beta Hesaluti and to all my wonderful reviewers. A special thanks to "Sophie (Guest)" for not only reading and reviewing this story, but for also taking a look at one of my Hunger Games fics. There are surprisingly few people who review both genres (although Ellenka is always awesome). Anyway, if you are a Hunger Games fan and would love to make my day take a peek at my other fics. Shameless promotion over now.**


	22. Chapter 22 - In the Same Room

Chapter 22 – All in the Same Room

Hermione hadn't felt so good for . . . months, maybe even years. She sat up, yawning and stretched. She'd had a very unusual dream. What was strange about it was how very normal it was. Usually her dreams were wild – either wonderful and thrilling where impossible things happened, or, more common recently, terrifying, her every fear exaggerated. Last night though, she'd dreamed that she was having tea in the Malfoy Gardens with Draco and his mother. That wasn't possible, since his mother was deceased, but everything else about it was completely realistic. The conversation was light, the food was lovely, nothing was distorted in any way, neither good nor bad. In fact, for parts of the dream she'd felt like it wasn't even her dream, like she was just watching a memory of Draco's.

Harry was sprawled over a chair next to her hospital bed, sound asleep. Hermione shook her head. The plastic chair was far too small for him. Why hadn't he conjured a more comfortable chair? She wandlessly transfigured the chair into a soft reclining chair like her father's favorite chair. Wow – she wasn't usually able to do such a complex spell wandlessly, particularly not before she'd had breakfast. She smiled and levitated the extra blanket from the foot of her bed and covered Harry with it. He stretched and sighed. He had dark circles under his eyes. He must have been exhausted.

The glowing blue on her arm caught her eye. How strange – last night her fingers had been blue, but this morning the blue was higher – a thick band just above her wrists. She flexed her hands back, then gingerly touched her own blue skin with one finger.

"Does it feel different?" Harry's voice was quiet, barely a whisper, but easy to hear in the hospital silence.

"No. Well, maybe . . . I think there's a little . . . tingle under my skin, but that might be my imagination."

"What do you think it is?"

"No idea, . . . except I don't think it's dangerous. It's definitely not any kind of dark magic."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because . . . remember how the horcruxes felt? There was something . . . horrible about them."

"Yeah, and this doesn't feel that way?"

"No, in fact, it's just the opposite. It makes me feel . . . hopeful." Maybe more than that, but she didn't want to say anything to Harry about such vague suspicions. This morning though . . . she'd slept better than she had for a long time. Better than that, her magic seemed stronger.

"Hey," Ron peeked in the door. "Good morning. I thought I heard you talking. How do you feel?"

"Fantastic," she said. Ron frowned. "Not like that, Ron. I told you. It wasn't a love potion."

"How would you know?" Ron walked over to her bed. Without asking he took her arm and studied the glowing blue skin, turning her forearm slightly to see whether it was completely encircled.

"Maybe because I don't feel like I'm in love with anyone." Hermione pulled her arm away from him.

"That doesn't mean it isn't messing with your mind. No one knows what it . . . ."

"Excuse me, Miss Granger? I'm Healer Pye. Time for your morning check up."

Hermione was relieved when the healer interrupted before Ron could go off on a rant.

"Good morning. Any chance I can go home today?"

The Healer scrolled through a rolled parchment. "Yes. It'd be nice to know what's causing the glowing, but if everything else is healing satisfactorily and you'd like to go, there's no need for you to stay." He waved his wand over her and faint red marks appeared on her skin, echoes of the wounds that had been healed.

"Bloody hell, Hermione. What's all that?" Ron spoke in a hushed voice.

"They wouldn't have brought me here for a parchment cut, Ronald."

"Yeah, but I thought it was just one curse. That looks like a thousand."

Hermione paused. "I don't remember." She knew that Healers needed good information to be able to do their jobs, but there really wasn't any further treatment she needed. If she started answering questions about her injuries she would jeopardize Draco's cover.

"There are any number of curses which can cause multiple wounds like this. You don't remember hearing what curse it was then?"

Hermione shook her head.

"How about the counter-curse? Did you hear that?"

"No. I was pretty out of it." Harry and Ron exchanged a look. She'd already told them what she did remember, although she didn't say who'd done the healing. Hopefully, they'd understand why she wasn't giving this healer any more information and keep quiet.

"Too bad. I'd love to know what spell could heal all of your injuries, that includes the internal cuts, and what's more – _finite incantatem –"_ the red spell marks disappeared, "it doesn't appear that you'll have any scaring. That's some magnificent magic there. Now, let's take a look at these blue markings."

Harry and Ron both peered over his shoulders.

"These aren't what I was expecting." Healer Pye seemed disappointed.

"Oh, have you seen this glowing blue before?"

"Yes, although not professionally. When I was a boy, my grandmother used to make this potion, I'm afraid I don't even know what it was called, but when we drank it, it was the most marvelous feeling. All pain disappeared, at least minor things like cuts and headaches, and life felt wonderful for a while. We'd get this blue glow that would settle right here." He put his hand over his own heart. "It was faint enough to be covered by clothing, but it could last up to a day or so." He sighed, dramatically. "I thought maybe I'd be able to figure out what that potion had been, but these marks . . . on your arms here . . . the file says they were on your hands and feet." He looked up at Hermione.

"Yes, last night they were. The markings seem to be moving."

"Fascinating. Can you feel them in any way?"

"I don't think so." He frowned and waved his wand over the blue bands.

"Well, as I said earlier, since you seem to be healing well, and since the glowing doesn't seem to be causing you any problems you can go home today, but do be sure to contact us right away if there are any problems or any changes at all that concern you."

"Do you think the glowing will just . . . stop?"

"Maybe. Come back if it isn't gone in week." Healer Pye nodded at each of the boys and, after giving Hermione a disappointed smile, he was gone.

"I thought you were the one always telling us that we should tell the healers everything." Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"This is different." Hermione sent a silencing spell toward the door. "I'm a handler now. Protecting our source is more important. Besides, you heard him, I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Ron crossed his arms across his chest. "You have no idea what's going on and you don't even care. This isn't like you at all. And why are you still protecting . . . this source . . . this Death Eater?"

"Ron, our source saved my life."

"Sure. For all you know, he's the one who cursed you first just so that he could . . . ."

"That isn't true, Ron. I know who cursed me. It was Dolohov."

"Well, your precious _source_ probably set you up, so Dolohov could get to you."

"That's ridiculous. He even sent me a message warning me away, telling me that Greyback would be there."

"Yeah, but if he knows you at all he'd know that you were going to ignore that. What better way to trick you into trusting him than letting someone curse you so he could save you?"

"Ronald, you have no idea what you're talking about. He saved Ginny and was almost killed because he didn't . . . you know what. I'm going to save my breath. You're not going to listen anyway. If you have problems with how I'm handling this – take it up with Kingsley." She reached into her drawer to pull out the notes on the "Amorita," not giving Ron another glance.

"That's another thing," Ron stepped over to her and grabbed the notes out of her hand, "what's this and where did it come from?"

"It was here this morning. He must have left them for me overnight. It explains the potion I was given, which wasn't a love potion."

"Sure, then why's it say right here . . . _'Amorita – bottled love?'_ Sounds like a love potion to me."

"No, it isn't. It's a completely different theory. Love potions are banned because they mess with your free will – they make you think you're in love with someone. 'Bottled love' means that it is a way to let someone feel the sensation of being loved. They're no more dangerous than your mother's rhubarb crumble. Now hand me that or I'll cover your back with boils." Hermione stabbed the air between them with her wand.

"No. I'm not giving this to you. You have no idea where it came from. It could be cursed."

"Of course it isn't cursed. It could never have gotten past the wards on the room if it was . . . ." Hermione paused. Ron and Harry had shared a look, then quickly averted their eyes, but it was too late. "You did put up our usual wards on the room, didn't you?"

Harry looked intently at the wall, as though he were trying to remember whether they'd put up wards. Ron looked up at her, his chin down, rather overdoing the puppy dog eyes look. "Well, I figured . . . I mean, it is St. Mungo's. I'm sure they already use all sorts of protections and wards and stuff."

"Wards that you can trust to keep any cursed objects out?"

Ron had no answer. He tried to catch Harry's eye, but Harry just looked down to study the cleanly swept linoleum. "Maybe you should go over the wards with us again."

Hermione crossed her arms. They all knew that he was just trying to distract her, divert her anger into the chance to teach them, well, reteach them. She sighed, then held out her hand for the notebook papers. Ron handed them back to her.

"Seriously," he said, "I remember that there's _'Salvio Hexia,'_ and something about _'Cave . . . '_

"It's _'Cave Inimicum._'" If he was finally going to pay attention to the protective spells, she wasn't going to let this chance go to waste. "You'd also want to use _'Protego Totalum.'_ So . . . go ahead . . . you might as well practice."

Ron threw Harry a fast look, but he wasn't helping at all. Hermione got the distinct impression that Ron didn't want her to see how unfamiliar he was with the spells she'd used so many times.

His face lit up. He'd gotten an idea. "Wait, there's that other spell, too. The one you used to do before all of the others, . . . this one –" He waved his wand with a flourish. This was obviously a spell he was more comfortable with – "_'Homenum Revelio!_'"

Hermione gasped. There was a figure standing behind Harry and Ron, at first glowing white, then the sheen dissipated and she could see Draco Malfoy, arms crossed, face furious, glaring at her. It took a moment for Harry and Ron to register that Hermione'd seen something, someone, then they both turned and instantly their wands were drawn.

"Apparently, that one is fairly important." Draco shifted his face from angry to impassive so quickly that she wondered if she'd seen it at all. His voice was calm and smooth.

"Harry, Ron, put your wands down. We need to talk."

Harry moved, folding his arms, while still holding his wand, mirroring Draco's pose. Ron, however, kept his wand up, pointed right at Draco's face, and took a step toward him. "What the hell are you doing here, Death Eater scum?"

"Ronald . . . ."

Draco shook his head, signaling that he'd answer the question. His eyes stayed on Hermione, though, as if she were the only one in the room. "I stopped by last night, to see how you were doing and to give you the information on the potion." He nodded toward the notes in her hand. "When I realized that it'd been too easy to get past your supposed guards, I put up some wards and stayed to make sure there was no trouble."

There was a thick silence as they all digested his answer. Hermione felt a tightness in her chest. He'd done all of that for her? Even though he'd been looking at her, he hadn't quite met her eyes, his focus apparently just over her shoulder. She frowned at him. She needed him to look at her. She needed to peer into his eyes to see . . . why had he done all that he had done for her? Her mind swam with questions.

Harry's did too. "Why couldn't you have . . . I dunno . . . just let us know that we needed more wards."

Draco smirked, then once again, directed his answer to Hermione. "I didn't think a . . . little chat with your friends would be an effective way to deal with the situation."

"Bull. You're probably just here to reinforce your imperius curse on her." His face was mottled with rage.

Both Hermione and Harry spoke at once. "You have no right to . . . ." "Ron, you know she isn't . . . ."

"Actually I sort of agree with the Weasel." Draco glanced at Ron, whose wand wavered for the first time. "A little more paranoia might keep you from being so reckless," he glared at Hermione. "Not that it worked last night."

"I'm obviously not under an imperius." Ron was being completely illogical about all of this, just because he still hated Draco. "You've been talking to me all morning. I was examined by a Healer. Are my eyes all strange? Are you even thinking?"

"There are those who can cast an undetectable imperius," Draco answered before Ron could.

"Draco. You are not helping here."

"I'm not trying to make your life easy. I'm trying to keep you alive."

"I think we just arrest him and let Kingsley sort this out."

"Ron, no." Hermione glanced toward the door, and sealed it with an unspoken charm. "There's no way you could do that without half of St. Mungo's finding out, . . . and it is completely unnecessary. I trust Draco. If he were going to hurt me, he's already had plenty of chances."

"He's the one who said you're too trusting . . . ."

"As lovely as this discussion is, I need to be going." Draco was again speaking to Hermione, completely ignoring the wand Ron still had pointed at him. "When you're feeling up to it, we need to talk. I need to catch you up on things. Nappy?" Before Hermione could respond, the house elf appeared, with a soft "popping" sound. She smiled at Hermione, then the two of them vanished.

"_Stupefy!"_ A red light shot from Ron's wand, passing through the spot where Draco had been standing and smashing into the wall.

"Ronald! If I hadn't sealed this room for sound, the staff would be running in here now." Hermione quickly repaired the dented plaster, and righted the nearby painting.

Ron turned to her, his eyes blazing. "Now do you believe he's got you under the imperius? He as much as said so."

"No, he didn't." Harry's voice was tired and he slumped back into his chair. "So I guess we've met your contact then?"

Hermione nodded, biting her lip. "I need you to trust that I'm not under anyone's control. Is there a spell that reveals the imperius?"

"A thief's downfall would wash it away, but we don't have one of those." Harry answered absently.

"I'm fresh out of Veritaserum myself," Ron said. His wand was down, but his eyes were wary.

"Wait, Harry, you can check. Do legilimency on me. You'd see the casting of the spell that way."

"Is this really necessary?" Harry looked sideways to Ron.

"Yes." Ron folded his arms. Did he really think Hermione'd was imperiused or was he punishing her because he was angry? It didn't matter.

Hermione shook her hair back. "Go ahead. Let's just get this over."

Harry stood up and faced her. "How far back do I need to go?"

The question was directed at Ron, but Hermione answered. "Ron, Kingsley said that the Auror Office is charmed against anyone under the Imperius, remember? We were in there yesterday, so go back to then." Ron was looking uncertain by now. He wouldn't insist that Harry check her, but there was a little fear in her mind. She wanted Harry to check. Draco's bragging had almost seemed like a warning. That made no sense, but still . . . .

"_Legilimens."_ She felt Harry in her mind. He skipped over the morning's discussions, then paused when he reached her treatments the night before. Her memories were vague, she'd been slipping in and out of consciousness, but there was shouting, blood, everyone rushing around, healers appearing, then disappearing, then he went back further and she was at the cottage. She wished she didn't have to watch it again. She saw Draco and Nappy, frantic as they worked to save her. She could smell the blood, feel the nausea again. Was Harry getting all of that, or was she the only one? Could he see the desperation in Draco's face? Her heart pounded as she tried not to think about what that meant.

Then Harry took her back to the Ministry. At first the only solid memory was of her desperate search for her wand and the portkey in her pocket, then they heard Dolohov's curse. He traced back through her panicked run through the halls, the ice charm, the obscuring charm. This part was much more clear. She'd been fully aware then.

He reached her exit from the office next to the Auror Office, then skimmed through her time watching Draco and his aunt. Finally, he glanced at their last movements within the Auror Office.

She felt him leave her mind and breathed a sigh of relief. She trusted Harry, probably more than anyone, but she hated the feeling of having him in her mind. She couldn't look at him. He'd seen so much. What would he make of it? She didn't know what to make of it.

"She's clear. No Imperius," he announced.

Ron said nothing, but nodded. He looked more abashed than relieved. It was going to take more than that for him to be able to trust Malfoy, and therefore Hermione. She reached up to rub her temple. She'd take a headache potion when they got back to headquarters. Asking for one here would just delay things and she wanted to leave as soon as possible.

Hermione was standing in front of the mirror in her room examining her glowing blue marks, which now encircled her upper arms and just above her knees. Still slowing moving. How strange. She was recasting the glamour that was keeping them hidden from the rest of the world when there was a soft knock on the door.

"Hermione? How're you doing?" It was Harry.

"Hi Harry. I'm fine, really, I don't know if it has anything to do with the potion or not, but I feel better than usual, more rested."

"Ron just went down for lunch. Are you coming?"

"Sure." Hermione'd sent a message through the coin, telling Draco that she was ready to meet whenever he was, but she hadn't heard back from him yet. She might as well have lunch.

"First though," Harry hesitated, "there're some things I wanted to talk to you about." He sat on the bed. Hermione was puzzled. He seemed concerned about something.

She sat down next to him. "Okay, what's up?"

"I've been thinking . . . I'm starting to think we should stop going into battle, stop doing the polyjuice thing."

Hermione's eyes widened. This was a surprise. "I feel like I should be asking you a security question." Then she paused. Maybe this did make sense. "Harry, are you just saying that to get me to stop going?"

The sheepish look on his face answered her question. "Kind of. That's the main reason. Look, Hermione, I can't believe, looking through your memories, that was such a close call. If you hadn't had a porkey with you, if you hadn't been able to reach your wand, do you realize where we'd all be right now? You'd be dead, or wishing you were. Malfoy'd be dead, or wishing he was. Our plot to set a trap for Snake Eyes would be blown. We'd be begging, trying to do anything to save you. It'd be a nightmare. It's just too much of a risk."

"But Harry, everyone's important. It's not fair for me to be able to hide out when everyone has to go into battle."

"Not everyone knows the things you know. If he got a look in your mind . . . . "

"I'm good at occlumency. I can keep him out."

"No one's that good. If he knows you know something, he can get it out of you. Just ask Malfoy. What if they brought in Muggle children and chopped them up piece by piece until you talked, what if they . . . ."

"Oh my God, Harry, stop. Fine." Hermione leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands. How could Harry think of such things?

"Look, it's not just you. It's me, too. I can't risk it either. We can stay together. We can work on creating encoded documents, figure out what they should say, how to plant them. We have a lot we need to do."

"I don't think I want lunch anymore."

"Sorry. There's one more thing I need to ask you about though."

"Great. What?"

"What's going on with you and Malfoy?"

Hermione sat straight up and glared at Harry. "What do you mean? He's the contact. I'm the handler. What are you suggesting? Don't start being like Ron. Don't start seeing things that aren't there."

"Actually, I think I'm seeing something that is there. Maybe you're the one who's not seeing it."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember when I thought they had Ginny or that she was . . . dead . . . or . . . ."

"Harry, I already told you I never meant for that to happen. I'm so . . . ."

"No. That's not the point. I'm not blaming you. It's just . . . I remember how I felt , how terrified, how desperate. I saw your memory. I saw Malfoy when he thought you were going to die. I hardly recognized him. That usual sneer, the cold blank face, it was gone. He was terrified. He has it bad for you."

"Harry, no." Hermione jumped to her feet. She began to pace in tight circles. "You must be wrong. He was just worried. He needed to save me. I'm his . . . ."

"His handler. I know. That wasn't it. You know it too, even if you're not willing to admit it." Harry leaned back on his arms and watched as she continued to pace.

Suddenly she stopped and turned to face Harry. "Why're you telling me this? What do you want me to do? I need to work with him."

"So . . . you're not okay with it then?"

"No. I mean, that's not it." She began to pace again. "There's no 'it' for me not to be okay with . . . at least I don't think there is. We've never . . . it's never been like that. We have a professional relationship."

"And you don't . . . like him, that way?"

"I don't know. Look Harry, even if I did, he couldn't . . . I'm a Muggleborn . . . it would never . . . I shouldn't even be discussing this with you." She stopped and gripped her head in one hand, trying to calm her swirling thoughts. Could what Harry said possibly be true? Harry had never been the most perceptive person, at least not before, but ever since his near death experience, his talk with Dumbledore in whatever limbo they'd been in, Harry'd been a bit different, more intuitive. Truth be told, she'd seen what Harry had seen. She'd told herself it couldn't be true. She couldn't believe it. The most frightening thing of all was that she almost hoped that it was true.

What a mess that'd be.

She realized that Harry was still sitting there, silently, watching her. "What do you think I should do?" Her voice sounded small.

"What you want to do is up to you. Either way, I trust you, but . . . Ron'll have a fit. He's bad enough already."

"Great. He couldn't be bothered to be my boyfriend when he was, but he'll take time out from his schedule to make sure that no one else is." She sat back down on the bed next to Harry.

"Hermione, that's not fair. You know that Ron and Malfoy've never gotten along. Malfoy's been a git to him."

"Malfoy was a git to all of us, but he's changed. He's different now. You know, Flat Face killed his mother."

"She's dead? That's weird. I owed her a life debt. I guess now . . . ." Hermione jumped back up. She pulled the coin out of her pocket. "What's wrong?"

"This is the signal. I need to go."

"Are you going to see Malfoy? What're you going to do?"

"I'm going to ask him what the heck is going on." Hermione glanced in her mirror, and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to calm some errant curls. She turned back to Harry. "Wish me luck."

She picked up the portkey that was sitting on her dresser, said "_Portus_," and she was gone.


End file.
